Premonition
by Ione
Summary: DISCONTINUED: Too much information is a dangerous thing. When Cassandra falls into the Fellowship, can she make things better or will she end up destroying her friends? People were not meant to know the future. BoromirOC.
1. Chapter One

If Cassandra was one thing, first and foremost, she was a dancer. Not a ballet dancer, but something hotter-tap and jazz. Just a dancer mind you, not a choreographer. As a matter of fact, she could not have placed two dance moves together to a beat had she tried, even though she knew all of the names of the steps. On her own, she had a great deal of enthusiasm and not a bit of self-consciousness, which led to many people saying that she danced well to music at clubs. But she knew that it wasn't true. Deep inside, she knew that she was a dancer on command; when told what to do, no one alive danced better or with more style than she. Even so, Cass or Cassie (as she was called when in the diminutive) had no illusions that there were sometimes many better dancers than she.  
  
In any case, that was one of the things that made up the greater part of Cassandra's character. There were others, like her church youth group, her adoration of fantasy movies like Labyrinth, Legend, and her unhealthy level of anime addiction.  
  
Perhaps her love of fantasy was the thing that made her able to cope with the situation in which she found herself now. Or maybe it was the fact that she had always prayed that this would happen to her. Or maybe it was her ability to manage, even in odd situations, completely on adrenaline.  
  
Yes, the adrenaline levels in her system were very high right now. But why? Why now, of all times? What had happened during that day, or, in fact, any of the days before this one, drew the notice of God to draw her into this.strange place. Was it real? And how could she be sure?  
  
In any case, a through revision of daily events would probably help her understand what the hell was going on.  
  
~*~  
  
Cassandra groaned when she realized that she would not be able to go back to sleep, even though it was three in the morning, and, sighing heavily, she got up. Maybe a few minutes typing on her story would calm her nerves and send her to sleep. Grinning ruefully, she realized how true that would likely be. Recently, her characters and her plot, for that matter, had seemed increasingly flat. God, what she would give for a flash of her old enthusiasm, her old vigor for her writing!  
  
It was that AP class. It had to be. Sitting there, listening to all the other people who had had her same ideas already written up was depressing and uninspiring; besides, it was humbling to realize that there were at least two or three better writers in that class than she. Cassandra, though humble when confronted with facts, was always shamed and jealous, even if only a little, when she discovered that she was inferior to anyone.  
  
What was worse was the fact that she adored writing-she loved bringing her fantasies to life and dreaming newer dreams, fulfilling her eternal longing for something different. But now.it all seemed childish to her. All the authors they were reading, all the semi-angsty, semi-realistic pieces that were being written were corrupting her vision of an inspiring, important fantasy novel.  
  
The other thing that was working against her was the fact that she was finally beginning to see how many other fantasy authors there were out there. So much better than she would ever be.  
  
Oh yes. She was humble, but oh! How bitter it was!  
  
Shaking her head fiercely, driving the thoughts from it, she sat right down to her terminal and started composing her next scene. The words felt dragged from her fingers-nothing flowed, no inspiration spoke to her as she wrote. In despair, she clicked 'Print Preview', because it often helped her to see how far she had come in her story. 75 pages stared back at her glumly. She frowned. How long was a real novel, a real fantasy, in larval stage?  
  
Starting up from her chair, she fell back, full-length, on the bed, and returned to her sleep restless and uneasy.  
  
~*~  
  
The noise of her alarm clock at 5:59 roused her again, and she grumbled at she staggered her way through shower, breakfast, backpack packing, and the bus ride to school. Thank God she had gotten all of her homework done the night before, because she did NOT feel like using her free period first to do anything other than talk to her friends in the uncomfortably crowded cafeteria.  
  
So it was true. People might call Cassandra a brain, but she knew that her effort at school, especially recently, was near nil. She didn't turn in homework, she didn't even do major projects (only once in a while), and in many classes, her test grades literally stunk. Of course, since 2nd quarter interim grades had just come out, you could bet that she was putting in a lot more effort into math and Physics. But she was just going through the motions, as she reminded herself constantly.  
  
And she was always, ALWAYS, wrestling with the question, "Will it be all right if I didn't put all the effort that I should have into high school?"  
  
College was Cass's goal. Her utopia. But she always worried that because she got 70s in math and science that she would not be allowed to get into her 1st choice college to study language. Her mother said that the college would see that she got good grades in French and Latin and not give a damn about her other grades and let her in anyway. But Cassandra could never be sure.  
  
Words were her love, her life. Sure she wanted to learn Japanese, Greek, Italian, Arabic, and dozens of others, but English was one language she loved as well. The power of manipulation that words gave her was intoxicating, and while her goal in an economic sense was to become an interpreter, her claim to fame was going to be her books.  
  
Eventually that is. In fact, what she had to worry about right now was getting through this English class without letting on that she hadn't done the required reading last night. Whoops.  
  
~*~  
  
Before dance, at least for an hour or so, Cassandra loved to sit in the library with some of her homework, or a new book, and read. Thursday afternoons were rather dull at her house, so she wanted to be in a different place. And browsing the high-speed Internet was always fun too. How she would kill for DSL!  
  
She walked directly through the Fiction rows to the L section and pulled out Avalon, by Stephen Lawhead, which she loved to read over and over. Though her library had an absolutely pitiful fantasy section and an all-too- large romance section, she had to be grateful for this treasure. She would have never discovered this author if it hadn't been for the library. Continuing from chapter 11 where she had left off, the half-hour she had given herself for reading passed quickly, and she looked up at the clock, noticing that she had only 15 minutes till dance, and she still had to print that calendar from off-line for her history class.  
  
Her dance studio was all the way across town, and she held onto her calendar tightly as she made her way over the crosswalks of the moderately busy suburb. However, the wind was gusting fairly hard, and though Cassandra loved the wind, she growled in irritation when it blew her sheet of paper clear out of her hand and into the overflow parking lot for the bank.  
  
Clasping her bag tightly to her side, she followed it intently, holding her breath as she jumped into the thick, black woods to retrieve the damned thing. In fact, she would have given up on it except for the fact that she knew the calendar would take forever to load back home, since it had pictures and everything.  
  
Yes, she could blame all of this on her Internet connection. Ha!  
  
In any case, she summed up to herself, to make a long story short, when she tried to get back out of the woods, she found that they extended for far longer than she thought. And when she finally emerged into a huge open plain, she knew that she was not in Kansas anymore.  
  
Or, you know, Connecticut. But that didn't sound half so classic.  
  
Oh, darn.  
  
~*~  
  
Cassandra decided that it couldn't hurt to take at least a few steps forward. Well, it could hurt, but most likely the world wouldn't come to an end, would it?  
  
Okay, so that too was questionable, but she did have to find out what the hell was going on around here. Hitching her bag up on her shoulder, she started to cross the field in which she found herself. It took her a while, and she was glad that here it seemed to be day (another conspicuous clue that she was no longer at home) here and not early night as it was back home.  
  
Unfortunately, here there didn't seem to be any buildings either. On both sides, the field was bounded with forest. Cassandra liked woods too, but not when they happened to be in a place where she knew nothing about them. In fact, she didn't like places that she didn't know anything about much at all.  
  
Her situation was getting worse. Now she knew she didn't like it. But, as if she was choosing her moves in a pick your own adventure tale, she decided to press on.  
  
Suddenly, an arrow zipped through the air and landed directly at her feet. She jumped backwards, dropping her bag and getting ready to run like hell, when a steely voice sliced through the air more effectively than the arrow had.  
  
"If you run, we will kill you."  
  
Well, that hampered her movements most efficiently. Cassandra tried to answer. Well, at least she managed to choke something out.  
  
"Okay."  
  
Damn. Even on a two-syllable word, her voice cracked with fear. Irrationally, in the back of her mind, she wondered, was it a dog or a person who you were not supposed to show fear to? Of course, neither really applied to the.creature, who stood before her now.  
  
Oh, my God!  
  
"You're an elf!" she cried, her tone so full of complete and total wonder that the elf (for so he was) stared at her curiously before retrieving his arrow from the long grass.  
  
"Yes. In fact, I should call that fairly obvious." His voice was rather snide, and Cassandra prickled at his snobbish tone.  
  
"Well, it would be for you, since I suppose you've been one all your life." she declared, planting her hand on her hip and arrogantly settling onto one leg. "It wouldn't be to someone who has just read about them till now. You are," she said, subdued when she finally grasped the fact that he was real and standing before her, "the first elf I've ever seen in my life."  
  
"You will be more than likely to see nothing but elves for the rest of your life, lady." The elf continued, understanding that she was a little more than overwhelmed. "You have entered the realm of the Lord Elrond, and we can therefore not let you go back."  
  
Cassandra started. "But I have to go back-I don't even belong here! Whoever you are, I'm not from a time when the elves exist. You're just fairy tales to us! I mean, I guess I've been praying for something like this to happen, but, this is a little much." She swayed on her feet at that moment, almost to emphasize her point. Was she going to faint?  
  
Nah. The guy was standing next to her, steadying her with his hand, making sure that she did not do just that. He was tall when compared to her; though she had never considered her 5'5" to be very great, he must have been over six feet. He smelled like trees, she noticed offhand. It was a nice smell.  
  
Okay, Cass, you have SO many other things to be worrying about.  
  
But the guy smells.  
  
NEVER MIND!  
  
Hysteria, wonder, and happiness were all vying for top emotional position in her head, but with Herculean effort, she suppressed them all and gave calm the top billing. The others festered in wait, bitter that they were turned down. She forced herself to ask the question.  
  
"What is going to happen to me?"  
  
"I am going to take you to our lord. He will know what to do with you."  
  
Cassandra nodded firmly, taking another, tighter grip on her stomach. "All right," she nodded her approval, "I'm ready." Doubtful, the elf did not remove his hand from her shoulder. She reassured him again, firmly.  
  
"I will be fine. I won't try to run, and I'm sure that I wouldn't get far if I did. I haven't done anything wrong, so I'm not afraid of seeing your lord."  
  
Wow. Good job, Cass. That was very calm and cool. Even better, he believed it!  
  
As the group of elves and the human girl marched through the outskirts of the forest, Cassandra finally allowed the emotions of happiness and wonder to take over. The elves that saw her that day would never forget that happy, serene, and yet hysterical smile that she had on her face.  
  
The girl herself was happy beyond belief.  
  
It had happened! She kept screaming it to herself, a wild and enthusiastic mantra.  
  
Thank God, it finally happened.  
  
~(.)-(.)~ 


	2. Chapter Two

Yes, she was happy now. But she had failed to concern herself with her real situation, which was growing ever more present as she was forced on through the woods. If she examined things now, she would have found that she was in deep trouble. Even more so, she might never be allowed to get out of it.  
  
Eventually, it dawned on her that the beautiful, tall, strong trees around her were full of more and more elves, all grim and armed as they guarded watchfully the boundaries of their woods. Cassandra looked at them as they stared at her, confused and hurt by the harsh looks upon their faces. Something serious was going on around here, and she seemed to be at the center of it.  
  
Well, she couldn't be that important. Maybe it was just that she was in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course, since she didn't know either what place or what time she was in, her ability to determine what the problem was happened to be limited.  
  
Ah, well. Look at those rivers! And that waterfall there! Cassandra was completely and totally bowled over when the group cleared the edge of the woods and she was confronted with an absolutely lovely vista.  
  
Several waterfalls spilled down the side of the mountains beside them and rumbled into a great river, like a blue vein, and sped down through the valley. Beside this, on the opposite bank of the river, there was a beautiful home constructed. Cassandra couldn't make the determination as to what exactly it was doing there. Or what it was. It looked like a castle, but then, it was a little too humble and low to be a king's estate. Maybe these elves weren't that showy.  
  
For a moment, Cassandra paused, listening in rapture to the crashing of the water as it tumbled into the river base. The trees, tossed on the wind, composed a reckless type of harmony as they rustled almost in the same rhythm. Underlying the sound of the wind though, she noticed, was a current of unease, of ominous foreboding. When she asked herself why she thought this, she couldn't put a finger on it. But somehow, she knew that something big was going to happen.  
  
Something big and deadly. Huge things were going to be decided in the something that was coming, and for an instant, she sagged to her knees, overwhelmed by this certainty in her heart. Tears welled in her eyes as she discovered, deep in her soul, that many, many men were going to die.  
  
So much would be lost...  
  
"Oh, God," she moaned, clutching her chest. "Oh, God, it hurts!"  
  
The elves clustered around her, half-alarmed and half-irritated. She felt some of them reached to her to pull her to her feet again, but the leader of the group pushed them back as he kneeled in front of her, staring intently into her eyes.  
  
"Lady," he asked solicitously, "what is wrong? What do you sense?"  
  
Cassandra looked at him, her eyes stricken with a terrible certainty. "This is Middle Earth, isn't it?"  
  
He was confused, but Cassandra drove right through that and repeated her question. He answered, hesitating, "Yes, my lady, it is."  
  
"And has the Fellowship of the Ring yet come to Rivendell?" she continued, determined to have it out.  
  
The elf shook his head, ever more convinced that this young woman was out of her mind. "I know not of what you speak, lady."  
  
"Has Gandalf the Gray come? Or Frodo the Hobbit?"  
  
"Gandalf Storm-Crow is at Rivendell currently, my lady. Would you like to speak to him?" He told her. She sighed. The quest had not yet begun. She could change it yet.  
  
"I would like to speak both to Elrond and Gandalf right away." She said, leaving no room in her voice for argument. When, however, the elf did try to argue with her, she silenced him with a look. Her face must have looked particularly convincing, for he straightened directly and ordered his companions away with some elvish words. Cassandra pushed herself up again, praying that she might be able to help in this quest. Praying that she might be able to avoid the death.  
  
~*~  
  
Gandalf the Gray had seen and heard of many extraordinary things in his life, and this girl who claimed to be from another time and world, in which his whole existence was nothing but a fiction story was nothing absolutely new. He understood that many realities melded on top of one another, and that some whole universes happened to be nothing more than dreams in other worlds.  
  
Yes, he understood that his life and reality could be just a story in another world. However, transposition of greater matter (such as a person like Cassandra, obviously from a greater reality) to a smaller universe (his own) was entirely uncommon. He thought that it might be common enough the other way, but the fact that the fates had seen it necessary to send a girl who knew what would happen to their time was confusing to him. The question that plagued him was not how but why?  
  
Leaning back in his chair, he stroked his beard contemplatively and stared at the strange girl who rested anxiously on her bench. Lord Elrond also was absorbed in his thoughts; it must have been obvious to her that neither of them knew precisely what to do with her.  
  
Yes, she was smart enough, Gandalf decided, and there was nothing evil to her at all. The fact that she had sought them out at first opportunity and laid her circumstances before them openly was certainly a mark in favor of her character. There was nothing to fear from her but the knowledge that she happened to carry. Who knew how it would affect their futures?  
  
They had prevented her from disclosing anything specific about the far future, requiring only that she tell them what she knew about the secret council of Elrond, which both of them already knew about. Her prophecies as to that were startlingly accurate, so they asked her nothing more. The girl herself understood the potential ramifications of her presence, and she was far more than willing to let them make up their minds about her.  
  
Cassandra's head drooped with fatigue and horror. Why did it have to be here? Her responsibilities were huge now. She had to do all in her power to make sure that the path of the Fellowship was as easy as she could make it with her knowledge of things to come. Beyond that, she had to remember as exactly as possible which paths they should tread. Her prophecies would be believed, she knew, but would they let her tell them?  
  
Gandalf had raised a huge concern. How could her words affect what was to happen? She had no idea at all. Would her fortune-telling mess things up for this reality? Would she try to help only to spring more complicated problems? Moreover, COULD she actually change things, or was the past and future really set in stone?  
  
Cassandra started to cry. Her large, silent tears drew no one's notice, and she was glad of that, for she would not have them think that she was so weak as to not be able to cope with this problem. She would cope, she was sure, but right now, she wanted to curl up and sob. Her vacation in a fantasy world was turning out to be horrible, and she would have given anything to be back at home, just doing, or avoiding doing, her homework.  
  
Gandalf sensed the change in the girl's feelings, and motioned to Lord Elrond. The elf chastised himself silently for letting her worry for so long, and kneeled down in front of her.  
  
"Cassandra," he murmured gently. The girl glanced up, looking at him through tear-studded lashes. "I do not wish for you to worry about this. We shall determine what the best course of action for you may be. I do not say that your burden in this world is light," he continued, trying to give her an even picture of what was happening, "but we shall do all we may to help you bear it." Motioning to a guard who stood outside the door, he finished. "Go now and rest. Ithildin will show you to a room. Look upon it as your own."  
  
Cassandra smiled wanly. "I thank you Lord Elrond. I'm sorry, I was just a little tired. I will stay until you have come to your decision if you wish me to." She wanted to show them that she was strong.  
  
Elrond looked upon her kindly, glad that she seemed to be able to bear what would come to her without breaking down, but he shook his head. "Gandalf and I have much to discuss, and I am sure that it would upset you further to hear it. Rest now, and we shall summon you later."  
  
Cassandra smiled, and, murmuring another 'thank you', left gratefully with the guard, who walked her silently to an empty, large, and comfortable chamber. She let her bag slide to the floor and slumped into a chair. She couldn't believe what was happening to her. God, why was this happening to her at all? Subconsciously, though she wished it would happen, she had sort of thought that it wasn't real anyway. But now...  
  
She had no idea how to deal with this. She shifted forward, letting her head fall into her rubbery hands. No pain that she had heretofore experienced had let her feel this complete and total helplessness. She wanted to help, but she wasn't sure whether or not she would hurt or help. She had seen the movies, and read the books. And the only thing that stopped her from crying was the fact that she knew it wasn't real. And yet...  
  
She had always cried a little anyway. How much more would she cry now? In her head, she saw the hundreds of dead left on the field after the battle of Helm's Deep, the thousands dead on the fields before Minas Tirith. She held her hand to her stomach. She must not be sick, not here or now.  
  
Wallowing in self-pity was not going to help her. She had to determine that she was going to do the best she could, and try not to second-guess herself, since her greatest unhappiness had always come when she didn't trust her own judgement. She had to rely on herself—and usually she did trust what she did in her life. Yes, she must be strong.  
  
And the best way to be strong again would be to take a long nap. Yes, and never wake up, her wicked mind whispered, but she put that away from her right away. She would not fall victim to the wishes that she longed to act upon. NO. This was not going to defeat her.  
  
Her choice made, at least for the moment, she pulled the covers back from the bed and, stripping off her jeans, she climbed into the bed and nestled under the covers. Whispering a prayer to God for strength and comfort yet doubting that he would hear her, she fell into a deep sleep, uninterrupted and calm, for which she was so grateful.  
  
~*~  
  
A subtle knock upon the door went unanswered. The guard who opened the door two minutes later went to report to Lord Elrond that the girl was fast asleep. The elf-lord sent one of the female handmaidens to wake her instead, deeming it unfitting that a woman should be roused from bed by a man. So, five minutes after that, Cassandra was pulled from the oblivion of sleep by a gently shaking hand.  
  
She awoke to a beautiful elven woman's face hovering above her, and she had no time to be disoriented, for the woman told her that Lord Elrond desired her presence in the meeting hall below, and that she had been sent to fetch her. The woman offered her assistance to help Cassandra prepare, but the girl declined assistance, assuring her that she would be down in ten minutes at the most. When the door shut behind the elf woman, Cass lay on the bed, eyes firmly closed for a moment longer.  
  
As she forced herself up off the bed and into her jeans again, the phrase 'working without a net' came forcibly to her head. She almost chuckled at how accurately that described how her circumstances lay. Indeed, she was so far out of her range of experience that she had almost no idea how to prepare for her next step. Of course, as she glanced in the mirror, she thought that brushing her hair would probably be a good first one.  
  
She unpacked her bag and lay her toiletries out on the vanity table where some elven supplies also had been thoughtfully placed. However, she preferred her own black-bristle brush and red velvet scrunchie to keep her hair moderately tidy, and she thanked God that she had remembered to bring along her necessities bag to dance that day, along with a fresh change of clothes. She often did so when she remembered to, because two solid hours of dancing in one set of clothes often made her not so fresh when she was done.  
  
She put her newer clothes to one side though, reminding herself that her current vestments were still fresh enough to last the rest of the day, and that she might have another opportunity to look nicer. Right now, she settled for applying more deodorant, patting her hair one more time, and cleaning her face with water from a basin that stood to one side of her table. One last check in the mirror told her that she was as ready for this as she would ever be, and she forced herself to smile, reminding herself that it was always better to face one's hardest challenges with a smile beforehand. With a deep breath, she stepped outside, where the elven handmaid awaited her.  
  
They walked in silence down to the hall, for Cassandra had never been talkative in her life, and she furthermore did not trust herself not to sound goofy in front of this magnificent creature. Both had too much on their thoughts to concern themselves with the other—Cassandra was worrying about how she would affect the balance of the universes, and the elf was reminding herself that she had a huge slit to mend in her blue robe to mend before she retired for the night.  
  
The guards in front of the entrance to the hall pulled open the large doors to reveal a hall of magnificent size, and the capacious room made Cassandra feel blessedly insignificant, which she really enjoyed feeling, if only for a moment. She never realized before this how wonderful it was to be unnoticed and in the shadows. Though she had always loved the limelight, this whole thing was a tad too much. Anyway...  
  
The two men greeted her with forced smiles, and she answered with one of her own. But soon, after the pleasantries were through, they all settled down to business simultaneously.  
  
"What have you decided?" Cassandra said, grabbing the bull by the horns. She was not encouraged by the looks that were exchanged between the other two, but she was determined to know what exactly they had determined about her.  
  
Elrond tried, to her mind, to dodge the issue. "About what, specifically?"  
  
"About what I will be able to do." Cassandra pushed, leaning forward in the chair she had been offered. Her hand trembled on the goblet of water she held, and she replaced it on the side table next to her. "About how I can help this quest. What will you let me do?" Her voice, which had been steady before, started to sound wavering. Cass shut up for a moment to give them a chance to reply.  
  
Elrond yielded the responsibility of answering to Gandalf, who leaned forward and began firmly. "Cassandra, we have decided that it would be best if you would just...stay out of this."  
  
The world rotated with a sickening lurch around her. This momentary silence gave Gandalf the chance he needed to press forward.  
  
"It is not as if we do not believe that you could be useful to us," he continued, almost as if comforting her, "but we cannot be certain that using your knowledge would be safe."  
  
Tight-lipped, Cassandra nodded. She determined that if nothing else, she would hear him through to the end.  
  
Gandalf went on. "We have come to this conclusion in this way: consider if we did follow your advice, or at least hear what would happen to us and how we would come to do what we do. We might take it into our heads not to do what we had to in order to come out of this one way or another."  
  
"By listening to what I say, you would decide to do otherwise, and things would turn out differently." Cassandra repeated, clarifying it to herself. Gandalf, relieved that she was taking this so calmly, spoke again.  
  
"Even taking a different approach, saying that we did disregard that reason, and took you with us. Your secret would not stay safe for long, and if an enemy captured you, he could get you to tell him what we would do and how we would do it. The enemy's methods of torture are terrible."  
  
"I know that I would not be able withstand torture," Cassandra assured them, "since my pain tolerance is almost nil. And I can understand your reasons as well." Steeling herself up to the argument that she knew she had to make, the girl took a deep breath and plunged in. "But you don't know what this is for me. I KNOW what is going to happen. I have seen..." she paused when she remembered that she could not, MUST not disclose anything about what she knew. "The thing is that I can't stay here and be content to know that you are out there. I have to do something to stop all the death."  
  
Elrond placed a hand on her shoulder. "War is breaking out. We know that there will be many casualties. If you are concerned over the natural deaths of war, you must deal with that. We have all faced it, and it is your turn. However," he said, noticing her cast-down face, "we are not qualified, the two of us alone, to make a decision regarding such a...resource and help as you are. As you are well aware, delegations from every race are coming to speak about the fate of the ring. We may, at the same council, hold a vote as to whether or not your knowledge will be used."  
  
"So I'll have a chance to help if others want me to?" Cassandra asked, seeing hope coming out of this bad situation. At the same time, it stung her to know that she was just a tool, a resource to them. But, how else could she be seen? She was just there for a purpose, and aren't all tools made for a purpose?  
  
"Yes." Gandalf said, standing now and striding to the window. "Lord Elrond and I will give our opinions, but majority vote will win the day. If more of the people present wish you to tell them what the future holds, then you are free to disclose what you know."  
  
Silence on all sides ended his declaration. Cassandra felt that she still had a chance to stop what would cause many more deaths, what might hurt so many more people. If that was true, then she owed them her gratitude. They would go against what they thought in their minds to allow her, and the other races, the freedom of choice. They would not be like Sauron, even when they might have done better to be so.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
Her voice was small, but it drew the attention of both those great men. For a moment, neither knew what she was thanking them for. But then, Gandalf smiled. This truly was an extraordinary girl.  
  
"Thank you."  
  
~(.)-(.)~ 


	3. Chapter Three

Cassandra spent the next few days waiting anxiously for the delegates to arrive. Every morning she rose for the sole purpose of seeing if they who were to decide her fate had come yet. It was infuriating to her to have to be so dependent on other people. Elrond's hospitality had been hard to bear at first, but she was getting used to it; after all, he was doing all in his power to make her as comfortable as may be, and she was far from ungrateful. But that was really the thing she hated—the constant feeling of gratitude and that need she felt to give him something in return. But she had nothing.  
  
And furthermore, it irked her to no end that those delegates were taking so long to arrive! Really!  
  
Cassandra punched her pillow in the middle of the night and turned over for the millionth time. It just wasn't fair. She had done her best to be brave and strong, but this period of interminable waiting was wearing the worse on her.  
  
Still, it HAD been naïve on her part to think that just because she was ready for them meant that they were ready for her. She giggled mentally at her choice of words, and rolled onto her back, tossing her arms haphazardly up over her head. Sighing deeply, she stared up into the night. She seemed to have such giant mood swings nowadays that she should just be glad that these people put up with her.  
  
She moved from moody to playful to hysterical to pensive and on and on the list went. It wore her out to drag herself through so many emotions, but...anything to pass the time, right?  
  
~*~  
  
The next day dawned as uneventfully as the eight before it. Elrond and Gandalf talked and the wizard smoked, the elves were uneasy and the woods were silent with the coming doom. To break the monotony, Cassandra decided to take a walk to the riverbank, since she had been allowed to travel wherever she wished now. She set herself a vigorous pace and off she went, swinging her arms with her messenger bag thumping gently against her knee.  
  
Fifteen minutes saw her at the edge of the sparkling water, and she watched the waves in envy as she saw how they jumped and seemed to spar with each other as they danced over rocks and swirled in eddies. It just wasn't fair that she was...  
  
She reminded herself for the fiftieth time (no hyperbole there) that she was whining, even if only mentally. No whining! She told herself firmly. I'm going through enough right now without having to deal with you getting all emotional, she told her conscience. Now quiet down or I'll come in there and...  
  
But she was saved from finding out how exactly she was going to get into her mind when she heard the shrill whinny of an exhausted horse. Stealing around the bend in the river, she saw a she-elf, more specifically Arwen, seated on the back of her white charger with her curved blade in her hand. Cassandra shivered in terror horribly real when she saw the hooded figures standing just across the way. She heard the echo of the woman's challenge from the mountainsides.  
  
"If you want him, come and claim him."  
  
Now wait just one moment. This scene is from the movie, not the book! Cassandra had been more certain that the reality was going to be from the book, not the films. Now she was confused. Well, more so than before. But Arwen was already invoking the powers of the elven nation against the evil crossing the river, and Cassandra had to jump back in order not to get herself soaked. She looked back in time to see Arwen laying the poor wounded hobbit on the ground, shaking him gently. Cassandra raced forwards.  
  
"He's still alive!" she cried, not even stopping to see the woman's reaction. She just grabbed Frodo's arms and helped her to support his weight. "We have to get him to Elrond, but he'll live, don't worry."  
  
Arwen didn't ask. She just helped the girl shoulder the burden of the unconscious hobbit and together, the two of them brought him up to the house. Elrond met them at the gate, and Cass surrendered her half of the hobbit to his care. She watched as the two of them met Gandalf and rushed to another room.  
  
She stood in the entryway, tired and overwrought but happy. She had helped, and mentally, she was already adding her role into the scene of the movie. She happily twirled a strand of her hair around her finger as she returned, whistling, to her own room. Now it was only a matter of time, if things were going according to the movie. As to why that should be, Cassandra pushed the concern back in her head. She didn't need to worry about that now, besides which, if it was, it was, right?  
  
Of course right.  
  
~*~  
  
No. It was wrong, everything was wrong. WRONG!  
  
Frodo had died.  
  
Just like that. Elrond had come from the sickroom, telling Gandalf and the prophetess that it had simply been too late, that Frodo didn't have enough strength left in him to fight the overcoming shadow, and now the hobbit was dead.  
  
Well, not quite. He was the living dead.  
  
The elves had taken him outside of the boundaries of Rivendell and left him on the ground, knowing that he would make the number of Ringwraiths ten instead of nine. The ring, taken from the hobbit's inert form, was kept secure and hidden in a place known only to Gandalf and the lord himself.  
  
Cassandra was shattered. Something had gone wrong, but what? Things had gone exactly as they should have gone in the movie. Hadn't they? And then her heart just stopped. Things hadn't gone the way they were supposed to go, because she had stopped Arwen from sustaining Frodo with her life force. Had that not given him enough strength to go on with?  
  
Oh, God. She had killed Frodo!  
  
She lay on her bed in her room, to which she had rushed the moment she heard the news. She had only wanted to help, and now he was...just dead. Dead.  
  
And it was her fault. Why couldn't she have just been an observer? She knew that he was going to be all right in Arwen's care! Why did she step in?  
  
Cassandra rolled over, fighting the urge to be sick. Clutching her stomach, she fought down the pain.  
  
~*~  
  
Cassandra woke up with a start, sweating in the dark night. The pains in her stomach were still there, and a quick trip to the bathroom revealed to her that her period had started. She groaned and nearly sobbed, her fevered feelings coming to a head. Where had she started dreaming, and when had reality ended?  
  
She pulled on her robe and flew down the abandoned halls, going her way by memory alone. She felt for the door to what was Frodo's sickroom and yanked it open, coming to an abrupt stop when she saw the scene inside. Elrond lay asleep, drained of his energy, in a chair near the bed. Gandalf himself held a lonely vigil, sitting on the windowsill and smoking reflectively. He looked over in alarm when he saw her appearance and rushed to help her when she collapsed to the floor at the room's threshold.  
  
She cried with relief against his side when she saw that the hobbit was all right. The terror that had gripped her heart had not relaxed, and she would never forget that the dream was a frightening example of what could have happened had she done the wrong thing at the wrong time.  
  
"The road to hell," she sobbed softly into the wizard's robes, "is paved with good intentions." Gandalf patted her back soothingly.  
  
"Tell me what you saw, Cassandra." He ordered her.  
  
While she described the contents of her dream, she was not comforted by the fact that she saw the wizard's face grow more and more concerned at the tale she was relating. His eyebrows knitted together in a storm-cloud like bush and he took short, vicious puffs on his pipe. When she finished, he shook his head.  
  
"It is worse than I feared at first. Cassandra, I am loathe to tell you this, but I was frightened of this possibility from the start. Your actions carry the weight of the quest which we must embark upon, and the quest itself carries the weight of Middle Earth's fate. When I acquaint Lord Elrond with your vision, I shall recommend to him that you not be allowed to accompany the Fellowship."  
  
Cassandra nodded in defeat, admitting to herself how deadly her actions could be. If a whisper of the future she could tell should be taken the wrong way, it could lead to disaster for hundreds. Furthermore, if a member of the Fellowship was killed for her sake, the end of the tale would most certainly not be the same. The millions of ways in which she could destroy this world were literally terrifying.  
  
And yet...  
  
"Oh, Gandalf," she cried openly now. "I can't just stay here! I want to help...even though I know how I might harm things. I...can't, I can't," she buried her head in his side and cried until she was absolutely drained of all feeling.  
  
They sat, listening to the quiet sounds of the river and the stronger, pounding pulse of the waterfall in utter silence. Gandalf spoke again. "Cassandra, I know not why you were sent here, and I know that your soul burns to be of some purpose. But right now child, I know not to what use you could be put."  
  
Cassandra nodded, trying to rationalize the complete and total pointlessness of her being there; then, she shook her head in furious frustration. "It isn't fair," she whispered poisonously, clenching her fists so hard that her nails bit blood into her palms.  
  
Gandalf shook his head. "Go back to your room child, and go back to sleep. For now," he countered, when he saw her raise an objection. "I promise you that I shall think how to give you something to do without jeopardizing the safety of all Middle Earth. That may be a difficult task," he chuckled, "but you are here, and you do have a job to do. We just have to find it."  
  
Cassandra nodded, feeling how good sleep would be for her. While walking from the room however, she ran back to ask Gandalf what exactly women did when they had their periods around there. She had the feeling that though he would find it highly amusing, he would know what to do.  
  
He did, even though her face was burning with embarrassment as she asked, but the results he came up with were most effective. In a flash, he had her tucked back into bed, with a painless tummy and other...hmm...essentials cared for.  
  
Cassandra drifted off to sleep, happier than she had felt in days. She did have a purpose, and she trusted Gandalf more than anyone alive to find it for her. A good night's sleep would make things better.  
  
Well, in any case, they would have to make things better, since she didn't think that she could stand the constant and unrelenting mood swings anymore.  
  
Though she prayed for no more nightmares, unfortunately, she got them anyway.  
  
~*~  
  
Gandalf was the one to wake her up in the morning, and he brought her one set of her freshly washed clothes and breakfast on a platter. Cassandra was touched at the wizard's careful treatment, and she felt likely to break down again. However, her cry yesterday had done wonders, and she was convinced that she was not going to have an outburst today. When she finished eating, Gandalf took the tray from her lap and looked her right in the eyes.  
  
"Cassandra, I am going to ask you a question, and you must determine for yourself whether or not to ask it. Is this all right with you?" She nodded, stricken by the serious tone the conversation was taking, but she was not going to say anything against it yet. She felt her excitement growing. Something was going to happen. Gandalf nodded, satisfied.  
  
"Am I going to die?"  
  
~(.)-(.)~ 


	4. Chapter Four

Cassandra was stunned at the question. For a moment, she wondered how selfish Gandalf really was inside. How could he ask this question when all of his friends were going to be involved in this as well? Leap of faith Cassandra here, she told herself.  
  
"No, you will not." She stated firmly, confused even more when she saw the look on Gandalf's face grow still more intense. "However, to us it may seem as if you have. In fact, you will...I guess you will die. But only for a little, and you'll come back anyway. Why do you ask? I know it's not because you're afraid, so why?"  
  
"I wanted to know if I would be a safe person for you to confide your knowledge of the future to." Gandalf said, relaxing into his chair. When he saw the puzzled expression on her face, he started to explain.  
  
"Try to see it this way Cassandra. If I know that I am not going to die, then I shall not be tempted to alter the future even slightly to save myself. I can be trusted, at least, I may trust myself not to alter the future in any other way, no matter what may happen. Tell me now, all that you can remember of our story."  
  
It was hard, but Cassandra finally managed to work down the barriers in her mind regarding the tale, so frightened had she been over the fact that she might accidentally ruin something for these people. And then the story flowed from her like water as she reveled in the courage of all the heroes and heroines of the world. She shocked herself by the extent of her own love and feeling for the tale—she nearly cried when she spoke of the death of Boromir, and she was silent for more than a minute when she told of the death of Theodin King. But she laughed when she talked about Eowyn's triumph over the greatest of the Ringwraiths, and she honored Legolas and Gimli for their bravery and courage in the hardest of battles.  
  
Gandalf too saw her love, her spirit, and all her fire in her description. Truly, the tales of Middle Earth, for more than that in her world they could not have been, were such a part of her soul that he finally grasped what it must have seemed to her to be told not to have any part in it. He too enjoyed knowing that eventually they would triumph, but unfortunately, he now shared in her burden. He knew also that more than what he expected originally would die. He also felt the burning resentment that the miscommunication between the races would lead to so much pain. But that was not something he had to deal with right now.  
  
At last, she drew her final breath and told the glorious ending of the Lord of the Rings. Never more had she respected heroism and bravery. And yet she still thought that she could not possibly take part in all of that. She was here, it was true, but she would be denied that true...feeling that she desired. Feeling was really the only word that she could think of, and she felt it not so far from the mark. Oh, she longed to be a part of the feeling, the experience.  
  
Gandalf rose slowly, placing his pipe in the corner of his pouch. The smoke-rings he had blown up to the rafters lost their brilliant colors, and he felt that he had much to think on before he could even begin to consider where this placed her. He admired her so much now, all of her as well: her forbearance, her patience, and the fact that she seemed to disregard her own safety just to be inside her favorite story.  
  
But he could not let these things sway him. There was much to consider rationally and quietly alone before he could make his decision. The time was fast approaching when she must either be hidden from the delegates or welcomed into the Fellowship with open arms.  
  
For there could no longer be any middle ground. Of that he was certain.  
  
Cassandra's blood was boiling with impatience. Why were they not yet here? Or, more to the point, why would Frodo not wake up? Since she knew that they would have been here for a few days before he did come around, she was upset that he was only showing vague signs of improvement.  
  
God, she needed to do something now or she would go crazy!  
  
Wandering out into the courtyard and the hidden sparring and meeting grounds below, she heard the clash of weaponry. Peeking through the branches, she beheld several elves fighting, their movements balanced and exact, graceful and precise, as their elegant blades met again and again in the beautiful dance. Cassandra found herself focusing on their feet, as indeed, with her years of dance, she had learned how to do. The steps and movements they made did not seem so complex when she merely examined them separately. Yes, when that foot was there, the other arm lead that way...the blades met like that...  
  
It was coming clear to her. If she practiced with all her waking hours (no hardship there, she had nothing else to do) she could master at least the basics of sword fighting before the others of the Fellowship arrived. After all, she needed to have some kind of skill to recommend herself to them. They were all experienced fighters, save the hobbits.  
  
Uh-oh. Her plans hit a slight snag. Who exactly was she going to get to teach her this? She heard again the clang of sword against sword. Oh, no. She was not just going to go up to those elves and ask them if they could. Oh, no. There was just no way in the world.  
  
And then, she was. She walked slowly down the incline, dragging her heels, if only in a figurative sense, coming at last to stand on the small level bank around the arena. The unoccupied elves regarded her as one of the humans in her world might have observed a scab on his knee. Interesting, but, at the same time, also disgusting and unwelcome. All right, so the disgust was very toned down, but Cassandra fancied it was there all the same.  
  
At last, the two combatants ceased, when one of their swords flew out of the ring to land plainly at Cassandra's feet. She glanced up at the heavens for an instant, chagrined, then sighed. "All right, God, I get the point. Pun not intended." She thought, bending to retrieve the blade as the elf came up to get it back. She held it from him for a moment, feeling its weight, lighter than she would have expected, comforting her palm. She offered it to him, point first, and asked her question.  
  
"How difficult is it to learn?" she inquired, keeping her hold firm on the hilt. She had no intention of letting him have his blade back until he answered her. It wouldn't matter if she pissed off one elf, would it? Nah.  
  
"I have practiced for over 500 years, my lady, and I still have not mastered the finer aspects of the blade." His tone was courteous, but his manner dismissive and, had he been human, Cassandra would have said callous. Time for a little bit of impressing, she decided, and she struck one of the offensive positions that she had taken careful note of in the previous battle. No doubt her stance was sloppy, but it made the elf wary, and he did not seem to take her threat as a joke. Good.  
  
"I want you to teach me." She declared, letting her authoritative side take over. "I need to know how to fight."  
  
The elf was literally taken aback. His mouth hung uncharacteristically open as he gaped at her unbecoming feminine audacity. He tried to recover from the inordinate shock. "You wish me," he said slowly, almost as if tasting the idea over, "to teach you, a female human, with no experience, to wield a blade?" His nose wrinkled with distaste.  
  
Cassandra felt her anger start to rise. At least she would not fail to have impetus in pushing this matter. "That," she snapped, "Sir Elf, is exactly what I wish you to do. I know what you might think. But I am no stranger to physical work. I have surprising endurance, and I WILL DO the work that you wish me to." She gestured to her own overweight frame, and continued. "I can learn, and I will learn. If not from you, then from someone else. I ask not that you teach me. I ask that you let me show you that I can learn."  
  
The elf stood back from her, letting his experienced eyes take her all in. What he saw, Cassandra thought, not letting herself squirm under his glance, must not be encouraging. She was overweight, despite the fact that she danced once a week and enjoyed her gym classes. So she got it from her genes. It didn't matter. She had confidence in herself. No matter what he told her to do, she would do it, because she would not fail. And that fear and loathing of failure was what had gotten her through most of her life. She won at soccer and was the best at dance because she wanted to prove that she could do what she set out to.  
  
But the rest of her wasn't that good either. She was strong, but the strength that might count in sword fighting, upper-body strength, she had almost nil. She had strong legs, which helped her excel at swimming, but all in all, they were hidden. She was overweight, she thought again in despair. Fat and four-eyed, with that hideous curly brown hair. Her head almost fell forward, but she held it up in pride.  
  
If others saw just that about her, then they had missed what was most important to and in her.  
  
Finally, after what to her was an eternity of uncertainty and tenuous confidence, he spoke again. "Well," he said, cupping his chin, "I guess you aren't so bad after all. Not half like I expected you to be."  
  
Cassandra felt her knees buckle. She looked him in the face incredulously, not believing her luck, and cried, "So you'll teach me?"  
  
He smiled. "That I will, and gladly, my lady. Anyone who can ask for what he wants so bravely deserves what he wishes. My name, my lady," he said proudly, "is Mithram."  
  
Cassandra bowed, and, noting the shocked look on his face, realized that she had to set a few things straight before they began. "Mithram," she said, "my name is not 'my lady', and while I do like being called that, if we are to fight together, I don't think it would be the best term to call me. My name," she said, with equal pride in herself, "is Cassandra. And I want you to treat me exactly as you would any other elf whom you might train. After all, I am not learning how to fight traditionally. I am learning how to defend my life and any and all lives depending on me. No niceties."  
  
He nodded gravely, not yet questioning anything that she had to say. But she was finished. She didn't want to say anything else. Speaking more would remind her that she might be making all her plans in vain. Perhaps after all this she would not be able to follow her path anyway. But it was good to be ready, just in case. Besides, she had always wanted to learn how to fight.  
  
The elf resumed. "Very well then Cassandra. Should we just begin then?"  
  
She nodded, bringing a grim smile to her face. "All set."  
  
Though the expression was foreign to him, he understood the gist. He borrowed a sword from one of the other elves and stuck the first stance she was ever to learn. Watching the position of his feet and hands, she copied him almost precisely. But he maneuvered behind her to correct the tilt of her wrist, and she listened intently to what he was saying as well.  
  
"The first thing you must know about swordsmanship is that position is key to everything. The incorrect stance can place you at a severe disadvantage in a fight..."  
  
Cassandra literally felt that she did not have the energy to stagger back to her room that night. Her legs shook, her knees were sore, her arms and stomach ached, and even her fingernails throbbed dully with the pain that echoed through her whole body. But her smile was radiant. He had done his best to get her to quit, not out of malice, but out of testing, and she had triumphed over him!  
  
Four hours of pushups, sit-ups, pull-ups, (which she had never before been able to do just one) between half-hour trials in her sword mastery had turned her muscles into fiery lumps of jelly. But she had done it. Everything he had asked, with not a word of complaint in between, and she had gained his respect, as well as the honor of all the others who had come to watch. And by the time her training was over, nearly half of Rivendell had come to see the impudent mortal girl who wanted to learn to fight.  
  
A triumph, she cried to herself, laughing mercilessly in her mind at those who had scorned her from the sidelines as she tried, a triumph.  
  
But there was one more hurdle for her to make it over before she went to bed. Both Gandalf and Elrond waited for her in the entryway, and she squared her tired shoulders to meet them with all the strength she could, which, by this point, was a pathetic amount. It would have to do, however.  
  
The lord viewed the girl in utter astonishment, while the wizard laughed in the corners of his eyes. How had he known that he would see something so crazy come out of her? Truly determined and brave. He was glad that she was learning to conquer what she saw in herself to be her infirmities. Oh yes. He had learned quite a bit from her in those hours of storytelling, and he knew her as well as if he had been around her since the time of her birth.  
  
Lord Elrond was not going to be shaken from his purpose in speaking with her, not because she was tired and not because she was hurting. This needed to be said, and she needed to be prepared for the path that lay ahead of her.  
  
"Cassandra," he opened plainly, "we have decided that you will accompany the Fellowship when it forms."  
  
Her smile was angelic, even though her eyes drooped nearly halfway closed. She walked past them, going slowly up the stairs. The elf lord started after her, angry that she seemed not to have heard or listened to him, but the gray-bearded wizard pulled him back. He understood, and he knew she was glad.  
  
Cassandra didn't even bother to take off her clothes. They were soaked with her sweat, and though she was disgusted with them, it just didn't matter at this point.  
  
Yes.  
  
Today had been...  
  
A wonderful...  
  
Complete...  
  
And utter...  
  
Triumph.  
  
And in the next moment, the girl was fast asleep, unfolding her old, comforting dreams of heroism and wrapping them around her like cozy blankets.  
  
(.)-(.) 


	5. Chapter Five

Hoof beats disturbed her rest that night, and Cassandra was vaguely upset when she tried to get up and found that her body was not going to cooperate with her demands. I just did four hours of intense workout, it told her, hissing with the remnants of the pain, and I am not going to move anywhere anytime soon. She had to content herself with lying back totally still, listening to the sounds she could hear echoing up from the courtyard.

Hoof beats yes, and voices, urgent and loud, seemingly disregarding the silence that lay over the home. One was deeper, and softer than three, which were strident and piping. Why were children here anyway?

'They would be small, only children in your eyes.'

Oh. The hobbits. Of course, it all made sense now. They had finally made it to Rivendell following Frodo, and that means...

That the other delegates were soon to follow. Excellent. Maybe now things would start getting underway. Oh.

OUCH!

Back muscles spasm, oh, that hurts.

Such was the conversation in Cassandra's head right before she collapsed back into her exhausted sleep.

But it was still several days before the poor hobbit regained consciousness, and though Cassandra could now pass the time by becoming acquainted with the other halflings and by sparring with Mithram in the fields (she was becoming quite adept with the sword, not to mention that she was learning the skill and value of throwing knives as well—so much fun) the time still hung heavy on her hands. She did appreciate the extra time she had to prepare, but come on! She wanted her adventure to start.

And one day, it did.

Gandalf came to her room, where she was washing off her face and chest after a lengthy spar with the elf, and he told her that they were here. No need to specify they, after all. Cassandra pulled on some of the new clothes that had been provided for her when she arrived at Rivendell, listening to Gandalf coach her as to what to say and how to introduce herself.

As she removed her sweaty jeans and pulled on soft, cool, white leggings, he told her that they were going to introduce her as a free seer.

"What is—uh—that?" Cassandra asked, pulling a light red tunic over her head. She decided not to belt the shirt, preferring it hang loose and have the benefit of cooling her off. Actually, she wasn't that warm, which was a blessing. All too often, she had to take a bath in the middle of the day after fighting. Today Mithram had cut their lesson short, needing to attend to something. Thank God for small favors.

"A free seer is a diviner who can look into the future without using a medium."

"A fortune-teller without a crystal ball?" Boots next. The thin leather shoes slid all the way up to her knees, encompassing her leg in a soft, protective sheath. How she loved those shoes! Last, she fastened on her new sword belt, with a weapon given to her by her instructor himself. It had been three days ago that he had given it to her, saying that she had trained enough to have one of her own. He had owned that blade for three centuries, one of his first weapons, and she had been touched that he had given something so...important to him as that blade. But it did look good as it rested on her hip, and the grip fit comfortably in her hand.

"Exactly. Now, remember, none of them are to know your talent," Gandalf said as she looked herself over in the mirror, "and it must, MUST stay that way. Also, free seers are extremely rare and powerful, but they are also reclusive. You needn't even bother to have a story. Just tell them that you'd rather not discuss it."

Cassandra nodded, admiring her reflection. The last week of intense exercise had been very good for her. Her figure had been a thick hourglass shape before, with her stomach nearly the size of her chest and hips, but now she had narrowed, so her waist showed the curve in her figure clearly. As her mother might say, she had lost her water-weight, and now the muscles from years of dancing were showing through. She thought the red complimented her hair and skin tone well, and the white leggings showed off her newly re-shaped and narrower legs.

She actually looked, if not by the modern standard, but rather her own, very pretty. That knowledge gave her, though not all the self-confidence she needed, at least enough to start walking towards the main dining hall, where all the representatives had been invited to refresh themselves before attending the meeting hall.

Sticking close to Gandalf's side, Cassandra avoided looking to much like an over-excited child by comparing the real versions of the characters to the dramatized versions of them, going over every feature point by point. Aragorn was nearly dead on, and Cassandra was shocked at how well Viggo managed to portray him in all his slightly reclusive, heroic mien. However, nothing human and from her world could accurately match the absolute otherworldliness of the elves.

But Legolas was still, and always would be, a complete and total babe.

She nearly gasped when she heard the word pass through the channels of her mind. Babe? When had that word slipped into her vocabulary? It was a really good word to describe him with.

Cassandra really did gasp when she felt a small, subtle tap on her shoulder, and she turned to face Boromir, for so he could only be. He also, though he looked somewhat like his movie equivalent, was different. His eyes were deeper, worn with care but still intense and sensitive to more than just the change in the flow of battle.

"I am sorry, but I was wondering if either of you would like some wine?" his voice was soft, nothing like the tortured tone of the man whom she had associated with the character. Gandalf smiled and answered in his semi-jocular, semi-acid tone, "I had no idea that the next Steward of Gondor contented himself with fetching wine for others."

Boromir laughed, and his laughter was more than pleasant to hear. Cassandra smiled, for the jab was well aimed. "A good leader must also know how to serve others, Gandalf the Gray. And I believe it was you who taught me that, as well you know." With a flourish, the man presented both Cassandra and the wizard with a silver goblet of wine. The girl, cautious as to the effects of too much alcohol in her system, took only a few sips out of politeness, and placed the cup on the table.

However, the royal of Gondor and the storm-crow had already turned to discussing other matters. When she heard the name of Denethor flow into the conversation, she turned her back on the chatter, shivering slightly when she thought of what was to come. Turning away was just another passageway to uncomfortable things, however. Eavesdropping slightly into the conversations of others, she heard her name mentioned constantly, along with the term 'free seer'. Apparently, she was already held somewhat in awe.

She liked it, but the appreciation had a bitter edge. None of them would ever truly know who she was on the inside. Her past and future would be cut off from them forever.

Glancing over to the pair of men she had left alone, she saw Gandalf excuse himself from the conversation and head over to Elrond, who was staring at something through the window and not attending his guests, as he might have been expected to do. Cassandra had no time to worry about this however, since Boromir, deprived of a companion, made his way back to her.

His warm brown eyes regarded her with something of a steady curiosity as he began the conversation. "I have never been one for tact, and, right now I wish that there were some discreet way to find myself out of this predicament."

"What predicament," she smiled at him, "might that be?"

"I have," he smiled back, fingering his sword hilt, "no idea what your name is."

Cassandra chuckled to herself, the laughter rocking her on her feet. "That was not anything like I might have expected. But it is a problem I can help you with. My name," she said, with a quick bow, "is Cassandra."

"It is a pretty name, though strange, Cassandra." He bowed back and spoke respectfully as he regarded the sword at her waist. The girl was surprised when he made no comment on the weapon or her clothes, but she remembered that Gondor probably had some female warriors as Rohan did. Still, she wasn't going to buy the fact that he said he didn't know who she was.

"Thank you. But now I shall be as blunt as you. How is it that you don't know me?"

"This will soon degenerate into a guessing game if we do not stop. However, I did know who you were by report, but I needed to verify those reports. After all, how credible is the man who gains all his information through rumors?" Boromir parried her question with the skill of a fox outwitting the hounds, throwing the burden of seeming un-childlike back on her shoulders.

"All right, no more questions," Cassandra laughed, conceding her authority for a moment.

Boromir barely had the time to nod before Lord Elrond invited all his guests to the council room. Or in this case, the council terrace. Cassandra inhaled, steeling herself for what would lie ahead. She couldn't change anything.

She had to remain silent.

The Council of Elrond began.

"Strangers from distant lands, friends of old," Elrond's speech, Cassandra's favorite bit in the movie, began, "you have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor." She couldn't help but mouth the words along with him, turning her head to one side so no one could see her. "Middle Earth..."

But her attention was arrested by the looks she saw on the faces of the others. Some faces were frightened, though they struggled to hide it, and others were grim. Legolas' face was quietly neutral, and Boromir leaned forward in his seat, eager to hear more.

"You will unite, or you will fall." Elrond's voice and intonation were different from the movie, but the wonderful dramatic effect was still there. "Bring forth the Ring, Frodo" The hobbit, rising slowly, gently placed the small band of metal on the stone pedestal towards the front of the terrace.

Cassandra's world exploded.

She had no idea how truly evil and powerful the Ring was. The bile rose in her throat as she felt the malice, the hate, tangible items now, pour off of the inanimate, animate thing in sickening, hypnotic waves. She shuddered as the Ring whispered to her, placing images of Rohan and Gondor restored, the armies of Orcs and Goblins beaten, and herself above it all, wearing the Ring on her finger. A queen above all queens.

She felt, even as she threw off the first set of images sent to her by the Ring, the tendril's of the evil essence enter her soul and attempt to take the first stages of possession of her heart. She fought them off with the strength born of complete and total disgust. The Ring redirected its attention, realizing that it would get nowhere with her. She watched in sick horror as she saw it work upon the hearts of others, offering them their dreams and hopes if only....

If only they would accept hell, carefully and beautifully compacted, as a ring on their fingers.

Wow. That was a good line, Cassandra thought. She'd have to remember that one for later. She saw Boromir, not the man of the movie, rise from his chair and begin to speak. Already she noticed the difference in his eyes—before, they had been strong, if tired. Now they were glazed, drunk seeming. She heard him talk, his voice husky and thick, almost as if the words were coming out through layers of gauze, and she lifted her eyes to his, imploring him to stop, to come to his senses.

Yes, she knew that he would have used the Ring for good, but that meant absolutely nothing to such a force of evil—it didn't keep its promises, nor did it care to. She prayed Boromir in her heart, break free, before it's too late.

He saw her eyes, and faltered. She immediately averted her gaze, fear growing in her heart that she had changed something vital in the timeline. Thank God that Aragorn still came through with his line, and after him Legolas and Boromir again. To stay safe, Cassandra kept her eyes directed towards her lap for the rest of the Council. However, the argument did break out, and she couldn't hold herself in when she felt the power of the Ring growing so.

The first yells began, and as they grew in volume and intensity, she saw with corrosive hate the flames erupting on the golden band. She shut her eyes, and stood.

"SILENCE!"

The word erupted from her throat, surprising everyone in the room to silence and scaring the hell out of her. At least she was still furious, and her anger gave her the strength she needed to keep going.

"You are all acting like spoiled children!" she cried, hardly thinking about what she said. "Do you not know that the Ring glories in this? I cannot believe that you should argue about who shouldn't carry it when you all know that no one here can. Lord Elrond," she said, facing the elf, hoping to find her way out of this, "you know that there is only one person here who can carry the Ring."

Involuntarily, her gaze fell on Frodo. The hobbit, already standing, nodded, though he looked frightened out of his wits. "I will take it." He declared firmly.

The crowd about him was astonished, and Cassandra noted with righteous gladness how ashamed some of them looked as they realized they had been quarreling like children. Frodo, she thought, you'll amaze them all in the end.

"I will take the Ring to Mordor." He repeated firmly. "Though," he added, his voice tremulous, "I do not know the way."

Gandalf nodded, his face at once light and very heavily burdened. "I shall help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins, so long as it is yours to bear."

"And so shall I." Cassandra put her word in here, and she stood back as the rest of the Fellowship added their voices to the crowd and their shoulders to the wheel. Finally, Lord Elrond faced them, his face glad as well. "Ten companions," he began, and Cassandra caught herself looking around for the tenth member. Swallowing hard, she remembered that it was she. "You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

"Great," Pippin cried. "Where are we going?"

She couldn't help it. As she laughed in the theater, the joyful sound burst from her mouth now, a mixture of real hysteria and maniac worry.

Thank God that everyone joined in so she didn't look like a complete and total nut.

That night, as she lay in bed, she realized that she missed the soundtrack to the movie, always playing in the background, so heroic. Ah, well, she thought, turning over in bed. She knew it by heart, so it didn't matter anyway.

Tomorrow was the day, she reminded herself, and I'll be on my way. Of course, though I can be certain of all other fates, my own is the one I have not a clue about. Do I feel safe!


	6. Chapter Six

She woke in the gray pre-dawn, when the sun was making a game out of rising. She saw the thin tendrils of the new day's sun coming up over the mountain tops, but she didn't rise just yet. Resting in bed for several more moments, she thought things over.

"Well Cassandra, here it begins. You don't know if you're going to die, nor do you know if you can keep anyone else from dying. Nor do you know if you can even keep up with the rest of them, climbing around and whatnot. So, really, when you think about it, you're really certain of nothing at all."

She sat up, stretching tiredly, wondering vaguely if there was some way she could just slow time down long enough for her to get in another couple hours of sleep before the others broke down her door and told her to get a bloody move-on. Cassandra's distracted glance fell upon her sheathed sword, and she decided, looking at the burgeoning shadows outside, that she would get about a half-hour's worth of practice in before breakfast.

Decision made, Cassandra washed, dressed, checked her bag for the journey ahead, belted on her blade, and headed out to the practice fields, still hazy and wreathed in darkness.

To her own surprise, she heard the sounds of a skirmish going on there already. She was shocked, thinking that she was going to be the only lunatic sparring before the sun rose. Walking down the path towards her field, she saw Aragorn and Boromir trading blows and fighting like true enemies in the silent woods. She watched them with her new eyes, eyes used to picking out position and form, and compared their performances to her own, critiquing her own stance and footwork as she observed them.

Round and round they went, for more than five minutes after she came down, and from the way they were sweating, they had been fighting for a bit before she had joined them. So absorbed were they that they hadn't even noticed her when she approached, and it wasn't until Boromir disarmed and cornered Aragorn that either of them finally acknowledged her presence.

"I beat you Aragorn, at last," Boromir said, chuckling breathlessly as he retrieved the other man's sword. Aragorn accepted the weapon gracefully and sheathed it again, breathing heavily.

"Would either of you spare five minutes for a spar with me?" Cassandra asked them, bringing their attention over to the side of the field. Both of them started, not having expected anyone to be witnessing their combat, and doubly surprised that a woman could fight at all. Aragorn, with more natural grace, recovered sooner.

"My lady, if you wish, I would spar with you." He offered graciously, unsheathing his sword but waiting until she told him to advance. Cassandra stopped him with a raised hand.

"My name is not 'my lady'. It is Cassandra, and if I have to give my speech one more time, I think I'll go crazy."

Boromir chuckled and spoke. "I should have known that such a powerful woman would have excelled in other areas of skill. Aragorn, with your permission, I should like to test her prowess first."

Cassandra smiled. She wouldn't tell them that she had only started to learn a week ago, since they seemed to take her so much more seriously when they thought she was a professional fighter. When she was disarmed in the first two seconds, she would tell them, and there would be time for explanation. Right now, she wanted to be taken as an unknown threat. He would fight her harder.

They took their places on opposite sides of the field, several large paces apart. Boromir, in typical fashion, waited for her to make the first move, knowing that it was only etiquette that the woman hit first. Was she going to give him a lesson in ETIQUETTE.

She started off with her blade extended, guarding her forearm on her left, wrists tilted, back slightly bent to help her move forward. She slid her right foot forward a little, nerving herself to start the fight. However, Boromir was less of a gentleman than she thought. He saw her foot slide as her first move, and he took the advantage to attack.

Good.

She held off his blade for his first volley and struck back with her second best combination attack, one that had even stumped Mithram when she first came up with it. She was glad when she saw Boromir step back, admiration written on his face. She took a firm grip on her sword and moved into it.

He held off all of her attacks, letting her confidence build as she continued to push him backwards to the edge of the arena. However, he had just beaten Aragorn, so he had enough of his own bravado working for him, so he took all of her sword strokes in stride.

Cassandra grew frustrated when he blocked all of her attacks and made none of his own. Locking him closer to her with her sword behind his, she whispered,

"More than you can handle?"

"If you say so, my lady."

She lashed out at him, her blade nearly slicing the sleeve off his shirt, and he finally came forward with his own attacks. She fended them off, but barely, for he knew many more tricks than she did, and she was close to being overwhelmed, and he knew it. Pressing her harder than Mithram had ever done, she conceded defeat when, at last, her weapon was flung from her hand, coming to rest at the very edge of the arena.

Cassandra laughed, clutching her chest and said breathlessly, "Boromir, that was amazing. I've never seen that trick before."

He, thankfully, was winded too. "I learned it from my father. I could teach you if you wish."

She nodded. "I'd like that." Turning to Aragorn, a fellow victim that morning, she cried, "He's on a roll, isn't he?" The man nodded.

"We will have to take him down a bit, you and I, Cassandra." He stretched his sore muscles and looked at the sky, verifying the position of the sun. "Right now though, I think we have to go in, for we shall only have the time for a quick bathe before breakfast."

"A bath…" Cassandra sighed, already feeling the cool water on her skin. The three of them walked up the wooded hill in a companionable silence. Boromir took over trying to find a safe conversation topic, and Cassandra helped him with a will.

"I love to read! But I haven't seen any books or scrolls in Common in the library, so I've been starving for something to read. Do you have anything in mind?"

"Well," Boromir said, "I would recommend something to you if I knew your tastes, Cassandra. But if you've found nothing here in Common, then I have brought no books with me. They were an encumbrance which I could not risk."

"Oh," she said, slightly disappointed. "Well, it doesn't matter after all. When we leave today none of us will have the time to read, I guess."

"Quite right," Aragorn said, "for if we did, I should bring something along. The library at Rivendell could be the best in the whole of Middle Earth."

"If you read Elvish." She said shortly, smiling up at the future king.

"If," he echoed, smiling back.

At the entrance into the house they parted ways. Cassandra saw the sun creeping up through the trees, and she knew she only had about a half-hour before she would have to be at breakfast. She hurried into her room and stripped, sponging herself off with water from her basin. That, unfortunately, was the only way to get a quick wash-down here, since it took far too long to haul enough water for a whole tub.

She immersed her hair next, running her brush and comb through the momentarily untangled locks. Drying her brown hair swiftly, she brushed it straight back from her head and wound it into a tight bun, preferring to let it dry so. Loose hair would be a distraction on the trip. Moving faster now, she pulled on a different, clean outfit, settling this morning on an emerald green tunic, black leggings, and her favorite leather boots.

She belted on her sword, tucked her two throwing daggers into the extra space in her boots, and double checked herself in the mirror.

"You'll do," she whispered, smiling broadly. Man, could she not wait for this!

The sun was rising higher in the sky, and from the clamor she heard in the corridor, the others were stirring and heading downstairs. She moved faster now, examining the contents of her leather bag and making sure that she had left nothing essential, or sentimental, out. She placed her comb and brush inside the pouch as well, and, swinging it over her shoulders, she left the room, verifying that she had everything one last time.

Cassandra looked down as they climbed over the final peak that would carry Rivendell out of their sights. She smiled down on the tiny elven figures that she could still make out and the merrily dashing waterfalls of the river valley. I'll see you again soon, she promised, and then she turned, trudging up the mountain path.

She walked right in front of Boromir, behind Legolas, helping to guard the rear, her hand in constant readiness on her sword. But as the hours progressed and she found that no danger was near at hand, she turned to Boromir and began to make friendly conversation. Since Gandalf himself was discussing things with Aragorn and Frodo, and the other two hobbits were speaking to themselves, she saw no harm in chatting with her fellow rear-guard.

Oddly enough, they found things to talk about. She had been worried that their conversation would dwindle after the first few volleys, but he seemed to be as interested in her as she was in him. Eventually, their conversation got around to her penchant for writing.

"You write?" his voice was almost incredulous. "Histories, or just tales of your culture?"

She had to remind herself that stories for pleasure were rarely had in his world, since much writing was devoted still to history and documenting the oral tales passed down from generation to generation.

"I write stories, things that I think up. I don't really base them around my people and their traditions either. I make things up, I put my characters in other situations." As the words came out of her mouth, Cassandra thought faintly embarrassed. It wasn't like she was published yet—she was seventeen, after all! And the whole idea of explaining to someone what a novel was just seemed laughable.

Boromir looked significantly impressed. "You must have an enviable imagination then Cass," (this abbreviation of her name used to be one that she had never liked—but most people fell into using it anyway. But she was growing used to the way he said it at least) "I wish that I could think of things pleasant to write about. But my life has not been one of exceptional joy."

Cassandra nodded, thinking about how hard his life must be. "I can understand that. And I think that you might still be able to write anyway—it doesn't take a pleasant history, but rather the ability to imagine pleasant things."

"I can see that." His sentence was short and his mien agitated. She suspended the conversation until she felt him calm. Poor guy, he really doesn't have the most enviable life. She considered the huge weight of responsibility on him, every day of his life, and she shuddered. How often had she wished to reverse places with a queen? But now it seemed as if her imagination of glory and excitement wasn't worth it.

After all, how many times might he have wished to exchange places with a commoner?

"I am sorry to sound so bitter Cassandra."

His words were short and the sentence sudden. She started when he spoke, and looked at his face. Lined with worry and cold with grief, the man looked to be at least ten years older than he must be.

"No," she shook her head, "I can definitely understand. How you must feel, I mean. I have seen so many others like you, tired and sick." She gasped then, the intake of air almost inaudible, smacking herself soundly over the head for her audacity. "I don't mean to judge, and I'm sorry I said that. I don't know if it's true."

He chuckled, shaking his head. "You shouldn't apologize, you were right. I am tired, and my soul is sick. You must feel the same way I do, sometimes, when it feels as if your very culture, the way of life you would give your heart and soul to protect, is dying right in front of you."

She nodded. "I know what it feels like, definitely. I have had so many things do that, so many times." And indeed, she did know what it felt like to feel as if something you loved dearly was extinguishing under your grasp.

They were silent for a while, the feeling of loss creeping upon them both so insidiously that Cassandra was almost crying in self-pity before she caught herself with a sound jerk of will. Shaking her head, she pulled herself out of her hell, and turned to the man beside her.

"All this may be true, I know." She declared firmly, "and we may never have much hope, either of us. But I know that what I love will always be there inside of me, and the people who have seen it in me. I won't loose it, because it hasn't come about yet. You see a dream, and mourn because you think it can never come about. Well, I tell you this: IT WILL."

She felt silly for making such a cheesy speech, but it seemed to give Boromir something to think about. She heard him murmur, "You are indeed very perceptive," and then he was silent, thinking. But neither of their attitudes held the despair and pain that had been there before. And, by the time they had stopped for lunch break, Boromir held himself higher and was in such good humor that he took on the job of teaching the hobbits their swordsmanship.

Cassandra looked around while the group made preparations for cooking. Under Gimli's direction, she gathered appropriate kindling wood, thinking back to her summer camp days. What I wouldn't give for a little birch bark, she thought with a little rueful grin on her face as she deposited her sticks beside the blustering dwarf.

"Two, One, Five!" Boromir's voice echoed off the rocks.

"Move your feet," Aragorn instructed, cupping his pipe one handed as he observed the training session with interest. Cassandra smiled at the hobbits and took a bite of the bread on her plate, spearing a bit of sausage with her fork. Chewing busily, she nearly choked on her mouthful when Boromir was besieged by the furious hobbits. She and Aragorn, sharing the same plate, laughed together when the poor man fended off the two furry bundles launching themselves at him, while nearly immobilized by his own laughter.

Boromir huffed, coming to stand upright again, and retrieved his own blade from the dusty plateau, smiling over at her. She relaxed for an instant under the sun, in the echoes of their laughter, and glanced over the skies. Unfortunately, true to the movie, there floated the gray/black cloud of birds. She stood, hoping to draw attention to them without altering events.

The other men and hobbits followed her eyes, and she dimly heard Legolas cry, "Crebain from Dunland!"

"Hide!" Aragorn ordered, and Cassandra dragged her bag underneath some scrubby brush, diving under the same ledge that Legolas chose, watching the birds as they flew inexorably closer. She felt the wind whistle around their wings and she felt the dust fly into her face from their flight, and she hunched down, keeping the dust from her mouth and eyes.

"They'll pass soon," she whispered to the elf as she saw him reach tentatively for his bow. Trusting to her intuition, Legolas lay still again. At last, the vicious buzzards moved off, and the Fellowship crawled from their ignominious holes.

"Gandalf!" Cassandra called over to the wizard, "They're going to warn Saruman about us. The passage isn't safe any longer."

The man nodded at her, and looked to the pass above them. "We must take the pass of Caradras!"

The company wearily shouldered their gear and saddled the pony with the excess and prepared for the climb. Cassandra gathered her scattered things (her bag had been open when she scrambled for her hiding place) and replaced them, belting her sword around her waist again.

It took them hours to reach the real snows in the mountain, and by the time the got there, she was so tired she might have fallen down right there and gone to sleep were she not afraid of freezing. The hobbits, at least, looked as if they shared her exhaustion, and she was glad for that. Walking was still not her forte, but among these men, she would rather have died than told them that she was tired.

Still they trudged on, working their way through the drifts and banks of snow, feeling the cold numb their legs with every step of the arduous journey. Cassandra labored over each breath, feeling the air of the mountain burn in her lungs with every stride she made up the mountainside. Her nose was pink with cold, and her ungloved hands were raw with the constant falls.

"Take my arm, Cassandra," his voice said into her ear. Boromir stood behind her, offering his help with a kind, solicitous voice. In her agitated state, Cassandra might well have punched him for his proposal, but she saw that his face was devoid of scorn or even that smug certainty that she had failed only because her sex destined her to fail.

She still shook her head with resolute purpose. "You're as tired as I am."

"But—"

At that moment, Frodo fell, rolling down the hillside. Boromir turned at the sound, as did the rest of the company, and Cassandra, heedless of the situation, set off down the hillside to help him. Fate has its way of turning things on their heads though, and in a moment, she too had slipped. Only this time, she felt her fall broken by the strong arms of the man behind her.

By this point, Frodo had gained his feet and fastened the Ring about his neck again, and after an inquiry about her, Boromir had continued walking. The whole group resumed its monotonous motion without a second thought.

Cassandra felt the horror clench her chest. The moment had passed. The instant when Borormir's weakness for the Ring became known had passed. She felt her breath hitch in her throat. This wasn't a dream—what if this changed something so significant that something necessary wouldn't happen later?

Fighting the feeling that was rising ever-swiftly to control her, she reasoned with herself. No, this couldn't be as significant as she was making it out to be. The scene he had made in the counsel must have been enough for Gandalf and Aragorn to see it, and they were the ones that counted in the scenario anyway.

It would be all right, she murmured to herself. It will be all right.


	7. Chapter Seven

Cassandra was so tired that by the time they made it to Moria she felt almost unmoved by the sight of the mammoth stone walls and the veritable magnificence of the whole scene.

Almost, that is.

But no one could possibly be blind to the sheer size of the scene. The cliffs towered up so high that they were nearly lost to the clouds above, and they glowered down, a strict and stern testament to the skills of the dwarves. The clouds themselves were low, flickering with occasional spurts of lightning, the flashes of which brought a ghostly kind of lighting to the valley in which they stood, staring helplessly up at them.

Gimli was thrilled to be in this stronghold of his people, and he spoke rapidly and excitedly to the others, whether or not they were listening to him. Cassandra kept an ear open, however, since the history of the dwarves was one she knew little about. She skirted the sickly little lake before the doors, staring, revolted, into the murky shallows of the treacherous waters, and she was more than tempted to stop Frodo before he stepped in it. But she held herself back, listening as the hobbit gasped and yanked his foot out of the unnatural liquid.

She sat, exhausted, on a boulder near the doors that Gandalf was unearthing. She too gasped with wonder as the thin veins of the unnatural metal glowed with the pale light of the moon, spreading over the rock face and branching out into the cool stone like roots. She reached out to touch one of the lines of metal, feeling the silky smooth vein pulse with hidden life and magic beneath her curious fingers.

"It's alive," she whispered to Legolas, who stood near her, regarding the doorway once used by his own kindred.

"Much of what comes from the old earth is alive, in a sense." He replied, feeling the metal as she did. "The old magic runs through it, as it does all life, though we do not often feel it any longer." His voice was slightly mournful, and Cassandra stared up into his almond eyes, feeling, for a moment, the same agony that ran through Boromir. The dying dreams, the dreams never realized.

She bowed her head, and he left her by the doors, by herself, thinking thoughts that she had never had before.

She vaguely heard Gandalf speak, chanting the words of his spells, and she wondered why he did not simply answer the riddle that she had explained to him when she told him the history of their tale. Removing her hand from the design, she faced the wizard, and saw his eyes meet hers in understanding. Yes. He wanted to let things take their natural course.

Better he have this burden than she, after all. He had the self-control, and the patience. She however, just wanted things to be over as soon and as painless as could be. In a way, he was her balance. If he said nothing to her, she said nothing to the others. For once in her life, she was glad for someone else to make the decisions in her life. She was too afraid to make them now.

But she caught Merry's arm when he drew back his arm to throw the first stone, disregarding the warning that sounded in her head against changing anything in the movie plot.

"Don't touch the water Merry, nor you either Pip. Something's not right here, and we should go as unnoticed as possible. All right?"

"All right," the disgruntled hobbit said, turning from the water and seating himself on the ground. Pippin however, continued to gaze into the murky fluid.

"What could possibly be in there?" he wondered, his voice loud and frank. Cassandra shushed him furiously.

"The Watcher," she murmured, turning her back on him. 'The Watcher.'

And Pippin was silent, pondering what she could have meant. She saw the looks that Aragorn and Boromir gave her, and she let her eyes tell them that she knew what hid in these waters. The king turned to his job of unsaddling and freeing Bill, assisted in his melancholy task by Sam, poor hobbit. Cassandra was having a hard time finding something to do with herself, so she joined Gimli in his examination of the walls. She heard with one ear his enthusiastic explanation of the settlement and mining of the great mine, storing his anecdotes and tales in the back of her mind.

"Mellon." She heard Gandalf's deep voice intone the word, and she fancied that she heard a note of relief in the elderly man's tone. The exclamations of the crowd and the congratulations that Frodo received were multiple, and, oddly enough, by the time the Fellowship was in the caverns, all their spirits were quite high. Cassandra passed the cold arches with trepidation. Perhaps the Watcher would not come because she had changed this course now, because she had skewed something. Gandalf too was concerned, she could see it in his face if not in his spoken words.

"Soon Master Elf, you will enjoy the fabled hospitality of the Dwarves." Gimli boasted, proud to be able to host his friend as well as he had been hosted. "Roaring fires, malt beer, ripe meat from the bone!" he crowed, heedless of his elven friend's delicately wrinkled nose. Cassandra chuckled, wishing that that priceless face had not been left out of the movie. All the same, she thought it unfair of Legolas to show his disgust for dwarven customs in the very home of his friend. Of course, disgust was too hard a word, but for lack of a better…

"This, my friend, is the home of my cousin Balin. And they call it a mine," he continued. "A MINE!"

Cassandra joked to him, "What else should they call it, master Dwarf?"

Gimli sputtered at her, considering the answer to her question obvious. "A kingdom, Cass! Something this magnificent is not called a hole, now is it?"

She laughed, but softly, fearing her voice's echoes in the deeps of the cavern. Legolas shared her mirth, catching her eye and giving one of his rarer smiles. She replied by tapping her elbow against his, keeping the mutual joke between the two of them. She enjoyed this silent communication more than any relationship than she had ever had in her life; she loved knowing that the elf knew what she was saying no matter how she hid it. Still, there were parts of Legolas that she found to be simply too perfect, and others that were woefully imperfect. She found it odd that such extremes should be juxtaposed so seamlessly—but perhaps that was just the essence of elf-ness. Elf-ness, she scoffed to herself. And you wonder why you have troubles as an author.

Suddenly, her foot crunched bone, the crisp sound slightly muffled by the sickening layer of decaying flesh stretched over the skeleton. She gasped, drawing her foot out of the dwarf skull that she had cracked in, swallowing her bile as she viewed the crushed visage.

"Aragorn!" she cried, pointing to the ground before her and wondering vaguely why it bothered her so—she had seen it before. "Look!"

The older man followed her arm, and strode forward to examine the carcasses as Legolas plucked an arrow from a fallen body. "Goblins." He spat, pulling an arrow to his bow as Cassandra heard the rasp of Boromir's sword behind her. She felt the nearly tangible essence of the fear of the entire group as they backed up and shifted; none of them were really sure which way to go.

"We make for the Gap of Rohan," Boromir's voice sounded sick, "we should never have come this way."

With a shudder, the group shivered back another step, but none of them were yet desperate enough to go on such a dangerous route. "Now," he cried, his voice scaling up, "get out of here, get out!"

Too late, Cassandra heard the splash of the Watcher in the water behind her. She turned desperately to catch Frodo's arm and pull him closer, but by then the creature of the deeps had him, and the poor hobbit was flung into the air as Cassandra pursued him, brandishing her sword.

Faced with this creature, her first life or death battle left her breathless and shaken. She tried to grasp her battle knowledge in one hand as she fumbled with her blade in the other. The loathsome creature tossed the waters into a boiling mass of froth, and she had a hard time keeping her feet as well as she hacked haphazardly at anything that crossed her path. Cassandra was gratified as she saw the tentacles fall off under her cuts.

A whiz of sound and sight passed her, and she heard the creature moan as Legolas' arrow impaled it deep—Aragorn and Boromir joined her in her stabs, but the animal seemed nearly tireless. Cassandra felt her arms ache and her vision blur with the constant splashes in her eyes. Her glasses were spattered with liquid, and she coughed it out of her mouth as she continued her assault. At least the creature seemed to share her sense of fatigue at last.

With a roar, the loathsome creature dropped the hobbit, flinging Frodo away from itself as it busied all its appendages with the business of defending itself. Cassandra caught the hobbit as he floundered in the shallows and called to the others to hurry as she dragged him up the beach into the Mines.

"Into the Mines!" she heard someone yell, but she couldn't distinguish the voice over the sound of shattering stone. The doors were being torn apart, and Frodo was wrenched from her arms as she herself was dragged forward by someone. Her foot caught on a boulder and twisted painfully as she raced forward, but the pain didn't reach her brain until the noise died down.

"Ow," she whispered in the quiet, dropping down to feel her bruising ankle.

"Are you all right?" Boromir's voice murmured above her as the light from Gandalf's staff flared in the darkness. It must have been he who had dragged her away from the peril at the doors. She flashed a reassuring smile up and nodded. The pain was bad, but she had her flexibility. She could still walk.

"We now have but one choice." Gandalf's voice was grim, and he faced the walkway into the caves with a dark determination. "We must face the long dark of Moria."

Cassandra felt the man next to her sigh imperceptibly, and she squeezed his shoulder where her hand rested. He smiled over, letting his own hand rest on top of hers. For a moment, Cassandra enjoyed the feeling of his rough palm as it touched the back of her hand. She smirked. They were dirty and smelly and wet together—how romantic.

"Be on your guard," Gandalf warned as the group worked its way forward with trepidation. "There are older, and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world."

Their trip in darkness was silent and uneventful. Cassandra couldn't help but be pleased; she was still having nightmares about that beast in the water, and every time she woke, her hands were still trembling in horror. Her fear—it had nearly been overpowering! Just now thinking about it, she felt her heartbeat accelerate and her breath come faster as her adrenaline flowed through her system. She forced herself to calm down, gripping the stone stairs in front of her and concentrating firmly upon the difficult ascent. Ahead of her, Frodo slipped, sending a small stone ricocheting down into the deeps, grazing the top of her hand.

Cassandra added that wound to her ongoing count of injuries—her ankle had just been the first in a long line of scars, bruises, scratches, and lumps accumulating on her body. Of course, she was no worse off than the others, especially the hobbits (their feet were hard, but the rocks in here were sharp) but sometimes she felt as if she would never feel better again.

Nearing the end of their trek, Gandalf again paused by the three doors, and Cassandra collapsed with a sigh, unbuckling her sword and laying the soft leather sheath behind her head to cushion her skull from the rough boulder against which she laid her head. Tucking her legs inside the circle of her arms, she closed her eyes to get a few minutes of rest. Unfortunately, closing her eyes didn't make much of a difference in the cavern—everything was pitch black, and this way, her ears detected the conversation between Merry and Pippin. But she could only listen to a conversation on pipe-weed for so long before she lost interest.

Opening her eyes again, she tried to find something or someone else to interest her. But the others looked just as exhausted as she; Legolas also looked starved for the sunshine again. Cassandra chuckled. She could definitely relate—after all, she felt like she was going to turn into a worm if she stayed underground for any longer. The air was so close, so heavy. Aragorn was contemplating Arwen's Evenstar pendant, and Frodo was looking down along the path they had already taken.

Boromir, though, who rested directly across from her, had his eyes fixed in a drowsy yet interested gaze upon her. She smiled and imitated his look, upon which he chuckled and drew himself up, opening his eyes a little wider. Slowly, slowly, she imitated his movements. Deep in her subconscious, she was berating herself for acting unbelievably immature, but higher up she told herself that there was nothing wrong with this harmless flirting.

Flirting?

HUH?

Was she really flirting with him? The guy had to be at least, AT LEAST twenty years older than she was! She was a junior in high school, just newly turned 17, how could she possibly be flirting with this man? Her logical mind screamed, "Gross!" but her other, less practical and less sensible mind said, "Right on!" And her middle mind (kind of the middle man—oh, boy Cass, that was a lame pun) said, "You can't be smart all the time."

So she smiled and leaned forward, kind of uncertain but letting her eyes tell him one simple message. "I like you." At that point it was still mostly friendship-like love, but deeper down, Cassandra felt that it was verging on something else, and she was coming very close to a brink. What brink that might be, she couldn't yet say. But she knew all the same.

When his eyes mirrored her message, she broke out into one of her Academy-Award-winning smiles (her sister called them that), and she bowed her head, now completely and totally embarrassed. But her eyes sought his soon enough, and the same feeling still shone right through.

"Ah!" Gandalf exclaimed, gathering himself up. All heads turned his way. "It's that way."

Merry jumped up. "He's remembered!"

"No," the aged wizard countered, "but the air doesn't smell so foul down here. If in doubt, Meriadoc," he patted the hobbit beside him, "always follow your nose."

One by one, all the members of the Fellowship descended the narrow stair, Cassandra falling behind Aragorn to help guard the rear with Boromir. He steadied her as she walked down, his hand a gentle and soft pressure on the junction of her neck and shoulder. The way his fingers touched that spot made her shiver in the air of the cave, and she heard his soft laugh behind her. Oh, she was going to have to pay him back for that one.

By the time they reached the bottom of the stair, they were only just in time to catch the first glimpse of the enormous Dwarven hall, and Cassandra would willingly have joined Sam's bewildered and awed exclamation.

The huge stone pillars, no more substantial than shadow, reached high into the open expanse of room, sheltered by darkness at their tops, carved with geometrical patterns, ingrained into the very consciousness of every dwarf who ever lived. This hall was the symbol of their entire culture, and Cassandra had to say, it was the singular most impressive sight that she had ever seen. Even the elven halls, though beautiful, were fragile and insubstantial. This gave the feeling of constancy. The world may tear and change, but this hall would be ever the same.

They wandered, all heads fixed upwards, for several feet into the hall when Gimli cried out at the sight of sunlight in the small chamber off of the main corridor. The others dashed forward when he left them, eager to see what he was so concerned about. When Cassandra approached the tomb of Balin, she could hardly stand. The feeling here—the power and agony was akin to what she felt upon first seeing Rivendell. Something enormous, something so far beyond her that she could hardly contain the feeling welling inside.

Death, pain had happened here. And even though she knew it, she had never felt it. She breathed deep, almost as if she were trying to keep herself from passing out, and closed her eyes, trying to keep herself up.

"Here lies Balin, son of Fundin, Lord of Moria." Gandalf intoned, reading the script from the tomb. "He is dead then," he continued as Gimli mourned his dead. "It is as I feared."

Gimli's painful cries echoed through the small chamber, chilling Cassandra's skin as they whistled past her ears and reverberated to the skies. Dimly, she remembered that something was happening behind her, something that she should not try to prevent…

And so it was.

'We have surround sound,' Cassandra thought, wincing at the first painful clash of steel against stone. 'But nothing,' she saw the stunned look on Pippin's face, 'compares,' everyone's face was drawn and horrified, 'to this pure,' ow, 'and unadulterated sound'

There could not have been any orc, goblin or troll who missed that ricocheting carcass.

Boromir's sigh was laced with hysteria, and all the others looked long and hard at the hobbit, whose face was drawn with fear and humiliation.

"Fool of a Took!" Gandalf snapped. "Throw yourself in next time and rid us of your stupidity!"

'Here, here.' Cassandra mentally concurred. Her sister might think him funny, but sometimes, Pippin was nothing more than a necessary annoyance. But even she was moved by pity when she saw the incredible sadness in the poor hobbit's face.

When the drums started though, she was instantly back to disliking his guts.

She raced to the doors with Boromir, grasping the rotting wood and heaving the ruined doors to as quickly as she could, trying not to think of what a pitiful defense they were. She grasped swords, axes, anything lying around to bolster the sagging wall, taking the weapons thrown to her by Legolas and Aragorn to help them both.

It was dim, and in the back of her mind, but she still heard Boromir's groan. "They have a cave troll."

A cave troll, her mind echoed as her stomach turned somersaults. A huge, hulking, mass of flesh bent on squishing every last one of us. Faaaaantastic.

But she had little to no time to think of it, for she and Boromir moved off quickly as the waves of goblins washed up against their barrier, pounding their furious little fists against the splintering wood. Soon their swords had pierced it in several places, and Legolas and Aragorn shot as many as they could while she and Boromir readied their swords. Cassandra desperately wished that she had some kind of armor on, or that she carried a shield like Boromir's. Without either, she felt naked.

The gates broke open at the first rush of the enormous troll. Cassandra gagged as she smelled the first wave of the beast's terrible stench, but she clenched her stomach firmly and set herself the task of handling the goblin that approached her. She parried the thing's crooked blade and rammed it through its black heart, feeling a detached sense of being take over her as she moved beyond her first corpse to the multitudes beyond it.

Deep down, there was fear. Deep down, there was uncontrollable horror. But thank God, it was not on the surface of her mind. Therefore, it was manageable.

Cassandra was carried away from the others on the tide of battle, pushed towards the doors where more and more enemies were leaking through with every passing moment. She got herself into a comfortable rhythm, stabbing and thrusting, parrying, dodging, and ducking whenever the troll brandished its ugly being anywhere near her.

Somewhere further down, she was thinking that she ought to be feeling some kind of remorse for these creatures. Then she smacked herself in the forehead and kept fighting.

But she was getting tired, and the horde facing her seemed endless. She retreated slightly, keeping her eyes before her, feeling that she should find someone else around to bolster her failing strength. The little vicious things shrieked in unholy joy as they saw her falling back, and that alone gave Cassandra the energy to throw herself forward again, renewing her energy and giving her the strength…

Her guard faltered for a moment as she faltered in footing, stumbling over the not quite dead goblin who grasped her ankle as she tried to recoil from a blow. She felt herself falling backwards and saw the goblins racing forwards to impale her, to end her life and take her soul from her. Unable to help it, she cried out as her elbows made a stunning contact with the harsh ground. But they had not killed her yet.

Boromir was above her and before her, pushing them back and keeping her safe. With one thrust of her blade, she killed the goblin who had tripped her and she gained her feet again, finishing the last of the first wave of goblins at the gate together with Boromir. Panting and still at last, they faced each other, fighting the urge to burst out laughing.

"I am glad I had the opportunity to aid you." he panted, "I was afraid you would be able to take care of them all by yourself, and I would not be able to come to help."

"Had I known," she gasped, feeling her heart pounding, "that you'd act this way, I would have killed all of them, and not LET you come help me!"

"Ah!" he sighed, playing along, "So you LET me help you? I should have known."

"You should have."

Sounds behind them though, stilled their conversation as they both rushed to aid the others in dispatching the cave troll and the remaining goblins. Currently, Frodo was backed into a corner by the repulsive thing, and though both Cassandra and Boromir tried to reach him, they were prevented by some particularly stubborn goblins before them.

She heard with heartbreak Frodo's painful cry, and though she knew he was still alive, she lashed out with all her strength, a savage scream on her lips. It was only with small satisfaction that she saw the goblin's head fly off its shoulders. She had to get to Frodo—she just had to!

Free finally from interference, Cassandra raced forward to where Aragorn already cradled the seemingly dead hobbit. She joined him and with a huff, yanked the giant spear from where it was clenched in Frodo's side.

"He's all right," she gasped, feeling the hobbit's cold cheek and speaking softly. "Come on Frodo, wake up."

He stirred under her grasp and shook off the influence of the pain. "I'm all right," he sighed, facing the others about him. "I'm not hurt."

"How is that possible?" Aragorn mused, the relief and joy clear on his face. "That spear would've skewered a wild boar."

As answer, the hobbit lifted his shirt, revealing the beautiful silvery links of his mail shirt, and Cassandra was stunned and half-blinded by the beautiful light racing off each and every link. She smiled. If only everybody had one like that.

"Mithril!" Gimli's voice was reverent, as only a dwarf's could be. "You are full of surprises, Master Baggins."

Unfortunately, noises in the corridor shattered their happy reunion and made their relief lurch instantly into the sharp edge of approaching fear.

Gandalf motioned to them all. "To the bridge of Khazad-Dum!"

Cassandra felt her breath hitching in her throat like it always did when she was terribly frightened. But this was worse by far than that time when she had seen the shark while swimming, or the time she had been coaxed into sky-diving by her reckless friends. This time there were creatures whose only aim was to kill her, or, failing that, torture her until she betrayed this entire world. And she ran, she ran as she had never run before, to stay away, to keep herself safe.

Deep inside, she felt it almost irrational of her to feel this fear—she need be afraid of nothing until she had changed something enormous. As it stood now, there was not even any fighting to be done. Of course, looking around again would give her enough reason to be frightened. My God, she had never realized how many of them there were.

Fenced in by goblins at last, she felt the terror overwhelm her soul, but she held her weapon at the ready, snarling back viciously at the beasts who jabbered and slathered over their human prey. She was taken over by that feeling of numbness, and she could react.

But that was nothing compared to what came next.

The squealing horde gave way to something that was (if possible) far worse. Cassandra had been starting to feel things, like agony and grief, as she had done in Rivendell, and now she felt anger. She felt hatred as corrosive as poison or acid seep through her senses, overwhelming her mind and clutching firmly at her heart. She pushed it back and away from her, but it didn't matter. The purveyor of this feeling was coming physically closer. She saw the red flames and the creeping shadow emanate from between the poles, and she prodded Gandalf into motion.

"Gandalf," she whispered, surprised at how dry her throat was, "Gandalf, we must go, we must." Her voice sounded as if she were going to start crying, and she was ashamed at how it wavered. Surely the others despised her as she hated herself right now. But no one seemed to care.

"What is this new devilry?" Boromir asked, finally allowing his sword to drop as Legolas too lowered his bow.

"A Balrog." The name shuddered in the air. "A demon of the ancient world. This foe is beyond any of you. Run!"

Now THAT was what she'd wanted to do sooner! This time she was not alone in her panicked breathing, since she could hear the hobbits and even Boromir and Aragorn joining her. Now they felt they had reason to be frightened.

The stairway they descended was treacherous and narrow, leaving room for only one to go down at once, with only a few inches on either side of the one going down. Cassandra hated heights, and she hated narrow, steep stairs. The uncertainty of her balance fed her fears, and the slamming noise of the monster trying to break through the doorway was the measure of her pounding heart.

She was descending into hell, she was certain. The flames below and behind scorched her face and hands, and from clutching at stones she was grimy with soot and dirt. Goblins shot at them from the concealed caverns, and their twisted and reeking faces merely added to the illustration. Still, at last, through terror on the stairs, they had reached the bridge. She was right behind Legolas going over, and nearly threw up when she saw how far down it was to the bottom of the chasm. But there was no time to think.

Gandalf!

'He's not going to die, he's not going to die,' her mind chanted to her, a soothing mantra, 'he's just going to leave for a while, that's all.'

So why don't I feel calm? My heart aches!

There was no sound as he fell, there was no sound as they ran out, and there still was no sound when she cried, when they all cried, for the friend they had lost.

(.)-(.)


	8. Chapter Eight

In the hours and miles that followed though, Cassandra found the peace that her knowledge brought again. She remembered that it was not hopeless, that Gandalf had just gone to fight the Balrog, and that he would come back to them stronger than when he had left, though perhaps not necessarily the same. But how could she expect him to be so, especially after what he would have to face?

Of course, her inner reassurance left her no place within the still grieving confines of the Fellowship. Of all the mourners though, Aragorn's depression shocked and frightened her the most. It was almost as if the man no longer had any self-confidence left inside himself. He was left with so much to worry about and so much to handle, because he was now the leader and he was to provide all that Gandalf would have. Cassandra had decided not to let the whole Fellowship know that Gandalf was alive, but she was going to tell Aragorn at the earliest possible moment that they had alone. She needed him not to be depressed and she needed him thinking clearly.

By this point though, they had nearly reached the safe confines of Lothlorien, and she was breathing easier, and it was obvious that everyone else was as well. She sighed, letting all the muscles in her shoulder relax into glorious release. She rubbed them, massaging the feeling into them and rotating her neck, easing out all the kinks.

"We are nearly there," Aragorn brought back his encouragement from his mini scouting trip. Cassandra glanced back to see how the news was taken, and she was startled to see nearly as much trepidation as relief. For her own part, Cassandra was looking forward to seeing Lothlorien and meeting Lady Galadriel. Magic always tickled her fancy, and this woman was the most powerful sorceress perhaps in the whole of Middle Earth.

They entered the silent forest easily, all except Aragorn, Legolas and herself peering around in fear. For her own part, Cassandra was just spellbound by the beauty of the place. On first glance, it seemed so like the woods in Alaska (where she's spent two weeks of summer once) that she was almost convinced that she was back there again. But really, such an air of something supernatural permeated the place that it made it impossible for such a comparison. The loam under their feet felt wonderful and restful and the leaves fell about them, softly heralding the approaching winter.

Indeed, she was so enraptured by the scene that she nearly walked into an elven arrow.

She gasped, rudely pulled from her dreaming, and focused on the face on the other side of the bolt. One of those beautiful, nameless Lothlorien elves stared back at her, his almond eyes narrowed at the sight of such an odd party violating his home. To speak true, Cassandra couldn't blame him for being so doubtful. Had she this place as her own, no one would ever enter it without her knowledge. However, staring at the tip of an arrow was like staring at the barrel of a gun. It was just plainly and supremely uncomfortable.

Aragorn spoke, and Cassandra obviously couldn't understand the elvish, but the tone of the sentence rendered the meaning plain. He was pleading for them, for the right to elvish protection. Though she wasn't facing him, she saw Haldir's face as clearly as she heard his words. With a word and a gesture to the others in his party, they all began the long walk to the main land of Lothlorien.

The shadows deepened as they walked, for the most part in silence, or with muffled, short conversations between those who stood near each other. Cassandra and Boromir walked side by side, and though each felt a new kinship with the other, neither wished to break the reverent silence. Messengers must have preceded them, for many elves began to watch their progress from the treetops. Cassandra noticed this and suppressed a chuckle. It was new to be something different.

"They've never seen humans before?" This question was almost as much question as it was statement. The looks on some of the younger elves (it was hard to tell age though) bespoke wonder, but she couldn't be sure.

Boromir glanced up, examining the elven children. "Lothlorien is isolated, true, but it almost seems impossible for them never to have seen our kind before, is that not so?"

"I hoped that you knew. I have never been to this part of the world." That was true enough!

"I have never been here either, and know little of the Lorien elves." Boromir faced the trail again, seemingly uninterested in pondering the question any longer. Cassandra let the issue drop, for she didn't really want to talk about anything in particular. There was too much to be felt and seen for there to be much desire for talk among any of the party members.

For the stars were already beginning to grace the indigo sky, touching the dark canvass with touches of red, blue and white, little flints of opals in the gorgeous dark bosom of the night sky. The silver trees stretched their arms in worship to this crowning glory, and the lattice-work of skeletal boughs framed pieces of this masterpiece to perfection. Cassandra walked with her head nearly straight back, not wishing to miss an instant, but knowing that though she searched, her own constellations would probably not be there.

Lights began to grace the trees above them, pure white lights of elven homes, which finally emerged from the sheltering trees, and they glowed with a life all their own. The delicate homes looked rather like fragile, waving reeds woven together in an endless, shifting pattern, instead of habitable places. Fairies danced in those queer little rooms, they could not be meant for anything beyond that, surely!

She tripped. This brought her gaze down from the heavens certainly, and it broke the spell woven about her by the bewitching sight, but its loss was almost more than she could bear. Only the soreness of her ankle and her body's and conscience's entreaty to pay better attention kept her from repeating her mistake. But of course, now she was outside the Fellowship once again. The rest of them, perhaps following her example, were also lost in the view of the heavens, and she had no where to look but at the backs of Legolas' and Aragorn's heads. Which didn't make for riveting viewing precisely, so she cast around for something that could amuse her while she walked.

Glancing left at one of the little elves, who quickly concealed himself when he saw her look over, she found herself caught by Boromir's face. He also faced the sky, eyes heavy-lidded and half-closed as he walked in his own private dream. The look on his face was almost more than she could stand. It looked wondrous, awed by the magnificence of the sight above him, and Cassandra felt his expression in her own heart when she looked up for another fleeting moment.

For some ungodly reason, she liked him. Her heart quavered. Liked was not a strong enough word, she felt. Marianne Dashwood had been right there. 'Esteem him? Like him? Use those insipid words again and I shall leave the room this instant!' was the quote that she knew and laughed at, but still considered true. There was no middle ground. Was she interested in him? Certainly. Did she want to know him better? He was the most amazing man that she had ever had the privilege to get to know personally, so of course she did. Could she love him?

Wait, her mind told her firmly. He is years and years your senior. Do not, I repeat, do NOT think that you have that much in common as to spend the rest of your lives together. He is from another world, from another generation, and you know little to nothing about his culture or anything like that! How can you possibly love him? How could you even consider it? Your own parents were the same age and both physicists, but they realized that they didn't have as much in common as they thought.

That is not true. Mom and Dad differed in…I don't know…but I think it was further beneath their characters than their profession. They had differences that reached deep in their characters. And I have gone over this again and again with myself—I am not going to make the same error that they did regarding getting married and all that stuff. I'd like to think that I've learned from their mistakes.

Oh, yeah? Her mind asked her, wheedling doubt in her head. And what if you are wrong? You'll be shackled in another world, far beyond anything inside your experience, and you'll be alone.

Now, wait one moment. Since when did we get on the topic of marrying? I just said that I'd like the guy, and that I want to form a relationship with him. Do I really know if he's interested in me on the same level as I am with him? God, how embarrassing that would be! Yes, I would like to get to know him better. Yes, I'd like to form a relationship with him, and one on a serious level. And yes, I think I could love him. Is that…is that really so bad?

She started, almost unawares, to climb stairs. Circular stairs, white as the pale beams of the moon, around, and around, and up, and up. It was starting to make her dizzy, and she lurched to one side, holding the trunk of the tree firmly with one hand before she felt well enough to continue. She felt a hand steady her from in front, and she looked up into Boromir's warm eyes. And yes, she had to admit that she smiled a bit there. But at least there was an answering one on his face as he turned away.

She bit her lip, grinning behind his back and pulled herself upright, continuing her path upwards. The beauty of the night around her seemed unsurpassed, ethereal and unbelievable. She trembled with joy and wonder. God's earth! God's Middle Earth! Were they even in the same universe? They were so different!

The top of the tree was eventually reached, and Cassandra walked along the broad, flat rounded platforms of the elven fortress in the same state of reverent awe that she had been in for the past few hours. Her vision was obscured by the blinding white light of the silvery metals and the ivory woods used to construct the brilliant enclosure, and for a moment she couldn't distinguish the two figures descending the stairs majestically before them.

The Lady Galadriel and the Lord Celeborn were the epitomes of elves. High cheekbones, almond eyes, delicate, smooth features and elegant hands were there in utter perfection. Cassandra could hardly stand to look at their gorgeous features without feeling that she had no right to even be in their presence. She glanced around her, nervously trying to see if there were any place she could retreat to, and thankfully saw that some of the hobbits obviously felt the same way as she did. She felt small and dark and weak.

Lady Galadriel's eyes slid over her briefly, but they caught her eyes in a split second of humorous understanding. The deep blue slits seemed to say, 'Do not be afraid, and do not be ashamed, little one.' Cassandra smiled at her eyes, and took courage, even if it was just a little.

"Nine there are here yet ten there were set out from Rivendell," Lord Celeborn's voice was smooth and pale, chiming harmoniously with the moonlight. "Tell me where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him."

In a heartbeat of silence all the pain of the wizard's loss was back upon them, and Aragorn seemed to be wondering how to frame his reply when the Lady Galadriel answered the question.

"He has fallen into shadow." She seemed trapped by the haunted expression in Aragorn's eyes. "The Quest stands upon the edge of a knife," her voice was sharper, "stray but a little and it will fail, to the ruin of all." Her admonition complete, she smiled and grew lighter. "Yet hope remains, while the company is true." Her eyes sought each of them in turn.

Cassandra started when she heard the Lady's voice in her own mind, even though she could still make out that the woman was speaking.

'Welcome, one of a greater world. I am glad to see that you understand the grave manner of your being here. We must speak later. The future is not static, nothing remains in stagnation forever, and motion cannot be stopped.'

The girl shivered, suddenly feeling the chill of the fall's sharp air. It seemed that only a second had passed since that slow, sibilant voice had slipped in and out of her mind. The Lady was still speaking, but this time Cassandra's gaze lingered on her husband, the Lord Celeborn. He was looking at her with an expression that she could not quite make out. It seemed worried, yet at the same time in full possession of that elven grace which makes worry something obsolete. She breathed through her nose slowly, and calmed her racing emotions.

What had the Lady meant by that? Could she mean that no matter what Cassandra did, she could not change the future? But that would contrast with her before saying that her presence there was a grave matter indeed. Nothing stays still in the future, everything can change, and that will never stop. Yes, philosophers knew that, nothing could stop motion, for time was an ever-flowing stream. Did that mean that her being there had an effect that could not be countermanded? Cassandra sighed as she was escorted down the stairs again (the interview had concluded while she had been thinking). Now she had to meet with Galadriel.

Down on the ground level of the trees, Cassandra seemed to come out of her reverie, and she looked around, feeling strangely disoriented. They were to be given room at the foot of several large trees to sleep in tonight, but for the moment the elves seemed to have left them to their own devices. She felt tired, so tired, and yet, oddly enough, her adrenaline had not left her and she knew that sleep would be impossible.

The hobbits were already making themselves comfortable at the foot of one tree with the bedding that the elves had provided for them, and Cassandra decided to do likewise, figuring that if she could not sleep, she might as well prepare for when she could. Suddenly, a beautiful song, mournful and deep, sounded from somewhere in the trees above.

Legolas, who had already changed by this point and was fetching water from the fountain, looked up, his face contorting with a sudden pain.

"What is that singing?" Cassandra asked, though knowing full well already.

"A lament for Gandalf." He responded, bowing his head silently as he joined in the singing in his mind.

Merry glanced up, almost as if to face the singer. He looked at the elf. "What do they say about him?"

"I have not the heart to tell you." Legolas turned to them both, "For me the grief is still too near."

Cassandra felt the explanation, the calm for his grief rise to her mouth, and she had to turn away to prevent herself from saying anything. He would find out soon enough, she comforted herself, you don't have to tell him. She busied herself with spreading out a blanket and plumping up a camp pillow. The evening, though chilly up in the trees, was warm down below, though that made no sense, and she settled with a single blanket wrapped around her shoulders. Propped up against the tree, she watched the hobbits fall asleep, followed by Legolas, and finally Aragorn came and also slept.

She jiggled her leg anxiously, feeling inordinately silly that she should be the only one left awake. Then she realized that Boromir had not yet come to bed. That was odd. Though he distrusted the elves, he could hardly hold any suspicions when Aragorn himself felt it more than safe enough. Maybe he had gotten himself into trouble somewhere, Cassandra thought, though that is hardly likely.

She determined to go look for him. Anime heroism, perhaps. Friendly concern, yes.

Sliding gently out from under the warm sheets, which seemed to call out to her so temptingly when she was gone, she scampered across the dewy ground towards where she had last seen Aragorn come from. As she knew well, the pair of them were likely having their discussion. Perhaps Boromir was still there.

She heard the gentle running of a small creek, mingled with the sound of deep, manly weeping. Pausing for a moment on the other side of a tree, Cassandra worried if it would really be best for her to go to him now. He probably wanted to be alone, and she never knew how to be tactful or graceful in these situations. Right now, in fact, she felt terribly awkward. But this might be the last time she would have alone with him before…

Her heart fell out of her chest. That's right. Before he died.

"Oh, God," she whispered, touching her chest, "how could I have forgotten? He's going to die in a few days!"

She needed to be with him, and she needed to be with him NOW.

His figure was bent; the man bent over his knees at the edge of the river, his head in his hands, crying softly. He did not seem ashamed to be doing it, but Cassandra felt it best not to announce that she was there and discomfit him—instead, she crept up behind him and touched his back gently as she settled onto her own knees by his side.

Boromir started; it was obvious that he had not thought himself observed, but thankfully, she had chosen the right tactic. He did not mind that she was there, commiserating with him, though she knew not why he cried. Cassandra kept her face turned discreetly away, only looking up at him when he touched her shoulder in return and brought her face up to his.

"I thank you, Cassandra," he murmured, "for feeling for me."

"Gondor shall be restored, one day," Cassandra said, in response, feeling that she was right in guessing the cause of his tears, "I know it shall be."

"Is that what you see?" he asked her, studying her face with an intensity that she found absolutely wilting. Her hands were unsteady on his back and shoulder as she answered.

"It's what I feel."

The moments afterwards were over before she had realized they had begun. His lips were on hers, the soft stubble of his unshaven shin tickling her jawline, and her mouth was open, in full acceptance of him. She made a small sound, moving her hand to his face, touching his cheek with her eyes wide open, memorizing the contours and the look of his closed eyes. His hand was behind her neck, pulling her into him, and the other was at her hip, massaging with repressed feeling.

It was her first kiss. No joke.

"I feel," Boromir murmured, pulling back from her. He couldn't seem to complete what he wanted to say, "I feel…"

She pushed her own way back to him this time, putting her hands on the back of his neck and pulling forward. Her eyes were closed this time, and it seemed that the feeling of the kiss intensified when she was deprived of one of her senses. Her arms trembled when he touched her through her shirt, his hand feeling the outline of one of her breasts, and she gasped into his mouth when he pulled it into his hand.

In need of air, she dragged her mouth away from his once more. It was odd that she seemed completely unable to stay away from him—her cynical mind said 'teenage hormones at work', and those teenage hormones shouted, 'Good God Almighty! All right! We're getting some!'

Breathing tremulously, she touched his rough hand on top of her, and pulled him gently away.

"I'm seventeen." Was her way of explaining. It was all she could offer by way of excuse.

"I know," he returned, leaning forward and kissing her on the neck. Her body exploded in feeling, tiny electrical reactions going off on every inch of her skin, vibrating down to the very soles of her feet. She trembled, thrusting her hand into his hair, trying to think of something, anything that could make him understand.

"I can't," she muttered, her body saying 'oh yes you can', "not yet."

"I know," he sighed, and pulled away. "And I understand."

"You do?" her voice changed from husky to dumbfounded in three point nine seconds. 'Could you explain then?' she thought, 'Because I don't!'

"Yes." His face was gentle. "It is not the right time for either of us. We have other things to think of." He touched her palm, lying in her lap, and she felt once more that faint electrical tingle. "When this is over, then it will be." His eyes left her no room for compromise.

'Yes,' her mind agreed, 'then will be the right time.'

She nodded. And stood up. Or tried to. For the muscles in her legs had, by way unknown, been turned into a mushy substance. Boromir had to assist her to her feet, the word 'assist' used very loosely. One might wonder, as indeed Cassandra did, whether she might not have been better off without him, or his odd brand of help.

Eventually, she was asleep on her own pallet. Apparently, a make-out session was exactly what was required to cure one of adrenaline overload.

(.)-(.)


	9. Chapter Nine

It was still dark when she woke up again. Soft footsteps in the grass disturbed her, though she was not alarmed, as she often was when some soft sound woke her in the middle of her sleep. Lazily, she opened her eyes up, just a crack, and saw light-footed elves changing the guard. She sighed deeply and pulled her soft covers up against her chin. So warm, and so tired…

…and such a sharp thing digging into her ribs. Ow!

"Oh honestly, mom," she groaned, turning to one side and firmly expecting to see the bright numbers of her digital alarm clock. "I just won't shower this morning. Lemme sleep."

A soft, dark voice murmured next to her, "We all want to sleep, but I am afraid you have been summoned to see the White Lady. She will wait until you are ready, but we are guests here."

Her eyes opened all the way, and before she could help it, a goofy grin broke all over her face. Desperately, Cassandra tried to hide it with one hand, but unfortunately, her mouth exceeded the surface area of her palm. He was smiling just as widely back down at her, and—since this seemed to be quite the day for her body moving without her mind's consent—she leaned forward and planted a small, shy kiss on his lips.

"Sorry," she whispered, looking at him from over the edge of her glasses, which she had fumbled for as she stared at her palms. "Galadriel, did you say? I have to take a bath, or at least brush my teeth…"

Oh goodness. There was something so very attractive about a man who did not seem to care whether you smelled like sweat and cave mold. Must concentrate, Cassandra, her mind told her, bath, teeth, kiss Boromir—no, no!—meet Galadriel.

But his hands were on her and so was his mouth and…oh, God! Aragorn was walking by!

As Boromir continued to hinder her morning's progress, Aragorn gave her one slightly amused, slightly teasing glance. He must have thought, as she certainly did at that moment, that they were beginning a relationship. But oh! She remembered—there was the slight problem of him dying.

She sighed, feeling suddenly very close to tears, and that gave her the strength to push him away—after a few more good kisses. She smiled at him and arched one eyebrow, staggering completely gracelessly to her feet.

"Must go have a bath." She told him, tapping him playfully on the nose, "Naughty boy, you should go explain to Galadriel why I'll be late."

As she turned to get away from him and go towards the swimming hole, his strong arms encircled her from behind and his lovely voice told her that he would be more than happy to do so, provided he could help her bathe. Oh goodness. 'That could be fun,' her mind told her.

"I cannot HELP," she drawled, "but think that that won't be the most effective way of moving either of our days along. I can manage by myself, thanks."

Of course, then he had to hold her back for a few minutes to express his supreme disappointment, but at last, laughing to herself, she finally managed to escape him. Of course, once he had turned away, she immediately wanted to go back, but when she rubbed the back of her neck and felt the layers of grime there, from mud and filthy water and cave dust, she remembered the wonderful thing that was water. And the water in Lothlorien was nothing if not the best, cleanest, most wonderful bath water she had ever felt. Really, she was bathing in a swimming hole and the stones were so smooth she felt like she was walking on imported tile. Elves rocked!

One bath, a teeth scrub—no toothbrush though—and a change of clothes later, with her hair hanging smooth and wet down the back of her black tunic, she felt absolutely, 100 ready for another make-out session. NO! She felt ready to do the important thing—yes, important thing—and meet Galadriel.

Aragorn and Legolas both were waiting for her back at the campsite, and after she tossed her dirty clothes in with the rest of her sack—to be washed later—they began the long ascent to what seemed to be the main hall of the Lothlorien elves. Being as it was much lighter out now, Cassandra could take in the other beauties of the society. But at first, until she learned to train her eyes to see what was barely there, there was nothing for her to look at. At first, all she could see were endless rows of gray-barked trees with long, winding staircases in spotless white birch. But slowly, slowly, her eyes began to mark the shapes of the cleverly concealed elven homes. One house, she noticed with delight and awe, actually expanded the trunk of the tree and rose straight up for several stories. Another split its multiple rooms along a series of branches, and Cassandra could barely make out the web of silver netting connecting one room to the other. She would never have seen that house at all were it not for the little elven girl who seemed to be walking on thin air.

She could hardly believe that these were the same people who wanted to abandon Middle Earth because they felt the battle was hopeless.

She looked up after another moment or so of climbing and nearly fell off the stairs. A little elven boy was staring down at her from the inside of a particularly wide branch. She heard whispers coming from inside, and when he noticed that she was looking at him, he ducked back into what must be his room. Cassandra could not believe it. That little kid was having a sleepover! Small world.

She felt odd all of a sudden, thinking back to her own friends and the sleepovers that she had. For almost the first time since she had come to be there, she wondered how she was going to get home. And more importantly, she wondered whether or not she really wanted to go back to what had been her normal life. Was it better to stay here? But her friends, her parents…her culture and life had been there. How long had she been in this alternate life? Did they miss her? Did they think she was dead?

Cassandra scoffed under her breath, disgusted with herself. How could she not have thought about this before? It seemed almost crazy, but the thought just had not crossed her mind. Weird. Her stomach turned over as she imagined her mother and father, sick with grief, on the phone with some impersonal police officer and hearing how another day had gone by without sight of their girl. How could she not have worried about them?

It was surreal and frightening, all of a sudden, the game she was playing here. The figures of Legolas and Aragorn, walking in front of her, seemed muted and gray even in the warm sunshine of the fall morning. She swallowed and took several deep breaths. What was she doing here? What was going on?!

She stopped walking and put her hand against the solid tree trunk, praying that she would not be sick on the immaculate stairs. She wondered, briefly, crazily, if they were teflon covered and if nothing would stick.

Aragorn noted the sound of the footsteps missing behind him and he turned and started, seeing the ashen face of the girl standing behind him. Her eyes seemed very large behind her glasses and underneath her tan her skin had gone terribly pale. The hand that gripped the trunk of the tree was trembling, and the young man knew that that his friend was on the edge of the mental realization that Gandalf had told him she would have eventually. No one can be so utterly transplanted and be perfectly fine. She had survived for a long time on her guts and sense, and now she was coming to understand that that would not hold her up forever. He reached her, coming back down the stairs, at the same time as she collapsed and threw up.

"My God, my God, where AM I?" she groaned, leaning on her elbows and looking through the slats on the stairs. She could smell her last night's dinner, and she felt like crying. It was just too much! How, how, how, how, how had she come to be there? What the hell was going on?

Strong arms around her, something soft pressed to her lips and wiping away the bile and the tears flowing fast from her eyes. Cassandra almost did not notice.

"God, where am I?" she groaned again, gritting her teeth and trying to get a grip on herself. Her heart was racing and her mind was going crazy and she just could not seem to focus on the gray clothed figure beside her. "How am I going to get home?"

Aragorn reacted fast. Although Gandalf had apprised him of her situation—as he had been second-in-command, he had been told to keep it to himself. She was likely to say anything now that her mind was so unfocused. "Legolas, go fetch Boromir and bring him here, and then tell Lady Galadriel that I shall attend her to explain the situation as quickly as I may." No one could know of what she knew until the story had come to its end.

Legolas was already around the corner of the tree by the time he had spoken. But he was confused. Cassandra had never struck him as the kind of girl to have unexplained breakdowns in mental and emotional health, and if she were, Gandalf certainly would not have been an advocate for her. He decided to concentrate on getting to Boromir, who, he knew as well as Aragorn, would be fairly likely to bring her comfort. He had noticed the growing relationship between them with pleasure—Boromir was a good man, and like all the older members of the Fellowship, he knew that the young steward needed someone to rely on. Now more than ever.

Cassandra was crying a little less when Boromir reached her, but she was still sitting rigidly still with her gaze locked straight ahead inside the circle of Aragorn's arms. She was murmuring under her breath, and the king had to admit that he was worried for her, now more than ever. She seemed to be a little less focused than before, not, as he was hoping, a bit more lucid. He wondered if he could dare leave Boromir alone with her.

"What happened?"

"She's having a nervous breakdown." Aragorn's voice was brief as the pair of them, holding her gently, started to carry her down the winding stairs.

"Why?"

His clipped, measured tone of voice, Aragorn knew, covered an extremely turbulent interior, and he was slightly worried about his reaction, should Cassandra be in any serious danger. "I believe it has something," he began, "to do with her visions. Something may have disturbed her. Gandalf told me that this could happen."

"Will she be all right?"

"I am going to ask the Lady Galadriel what we can do for her—she has frequent visions herself as well."

They had reached the ground level now.

"Is there nothing else to be done?" Boromir's voice was an agony of restraint.

"Stay with her here," Aragorn lay her on the ground for a moment to arrange the blankets and pillows in the softest way possible, hoping that the hobbits would stay away from her until she was better. Or, at least, silent. "I will go speak to the White Lady."

Boromir nodded and helped the other man arrange the girl on the pillows. Her eyes were shut tightly, so tightly that her whole face seemed to scrunch up—and her glasses (so she called them) had slipped to one side of her face. To keep the finely wrought things from being crushed or broken, he took them off and lay them in the little niche where Cassandra kept them when she slept. Then there was nothing for him to do except feel her disturbingly warm forehead in wretched anxiety, and hold her hands, wishing she could speak to him.

Legolas, who had remained near them while he watched them get Cassandra comfortable, asked if he could do anything for her.

"Your guess may be as good as mine," Boromir sighed, looking up at the elf, "maybe we should sponge off her forehead? She feels warm."

Legolas nodded and took a small pitcher with him as he jogged towards the nearest well.

Cassandra sighed heavily, deeply, and opened her eyes. They were filled with tears. She looked at Boromir, her eyes unfocused, and murmured, "I want to go home."

"Home is not that far away," he whispered, stroking her wet hair, "you will be there soon."

"Home is a dimension away," she sighed, "I want to go home…how do I get there from here? Where is here?"

"This is Middle Earth," he said, thinking it might be best to humor her until she regained some kind of stability, "you are in Lothlorien. Your country is not far from here."

Cassandra laughed. "It doesn't matter. I'll die here—never make it home, I can't, I can't. I don't have the magic to do it. I got here by magic, and that's how I'll get back…"

Boromir was about to go against his instinct and ask her what in the world she meant, but it was too late. She was fast asleep. But breathing calmly, and normally. And while her forehead was still fevered, he decided to take it as a good sign.

(.)-(.)


End file.
